


The Unbroken Circle

by SaintImperator



Series: The Trilogy of Smoke and Blood [2]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Bloodborne - Freeform, The Healing Church, Yharnam, kos - Freeform, the choir - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:34:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 194,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8574958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintImperator/pseuds/SaintImperator
Summary: This story takes place before the events of the Bloodborne game and tells the tale of Kohso a novice of the Healing Church. He is dedicated to his faith and his work as a hunter, but as a greater plan for his life begins to reveal itself he is forced to flee Yharnam and question the teachings he once held dear. Along the way he encounters a cast not limited too a silent pirate, an aristocrat who enjoys fine dining, a boy with beautiful eyelashes and a whole slew of others. This work is heavily inspired by Bloodborne and includes several characters from the game.
(cover by: http://janshaffer.tumblr.com/ )





	1. Chapter One: The Town

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think of this story should you decide to read it's first chapter. I hope you enjoy, feedback is very much appreciated.

The church had been trying to stop the Ashen plague for years. New blood was brought in from Byrgenwerth every day, with each new shipment the road to Yharnam became more treacherous. Vicar Laurence had suspected this to be Provost Willem’s doing. The two great thinkers had once worked together but our good Vicar had left to form the Healing Church. Our church stands strong the only pure pillar in a world fast going to decay. The Healing Church devoted all of its resources to finding a cure, setting out across the Black Sea and to the furthest corners of the globe. Slowly our finest hunters were swallowed up, never to be heard from again. 

I never had the opportunity to meet Laurence, nor Ludwig his predecessor. Both did their best to run the church, but the ever-worsening conditions began to weigh heavily on their shoulders. Both of them set out, seeking holy relics that might be able to return the world to its former state. I have studied the work that they left behind, whatever cure they were seeking it could not be found in Yharnam. 

I’ve spent hours in the highest church steeple, where the doves and pigeons are kept. I’d check legs and claws daily, hoping for a message from the founders, yearning for a glimmer of hope on the horizon. They have yet to write. I fear our time is running out, the denizens have started to defect. They are losing faith in the healing church and its hunters. The others didn’t seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation, but the poorly-concealed whisperings of the elder Vicars was not lost on me. I knew they were worried. 

“Kohso?! Kohso, are you up here? Don’t make me climb all these stairs, come on, it smells like bird shit up there!” The voice of Eros echoed up the stairs. He was a novice church hunter, like myself. 

I closed the door of a pigeon’s bird cage and made my way to the aviary door. I peered down the candlelit stairway, which swirled downwards spiraling beyond my sight. Eros would be hovering towards the bottom, he wasn’t overly fond of expending energy unless he had deemed it necessary. Coming to fetch me would hardly be worth the additional effort. 

“Yes.” I replied announcing myself as I began my descent. 

“Hurry up won’t you? The Executioners are going to get here by nightfall and will be the one’s facing the wheel if we don’t finish with the thuribles.” 

“Hanging those was your job, not mine.” I said as I approached Eros. For all his talk of hurrying he was the portrait of a man in repose. Eros leaned against the wall, picking dirt from underneath his nails. 

“The Choir said I could use whatever was at my disposal. Turns out you’re at my disposal. Come on Kohso, you know I hate heights. Rooftops are the devil.” Eros pleaded. 

“No they’re not, and you should learn to get used to them.” I said, “The Ancient Ones reside in high places.” 

“Touché.” Eros said, “But weren’t the Ancient Ones also all about helping your fellow man. Especially if that fellow man is going to have his ass handed to him if he doesn’t get a incense burner up over Red Street in the next half hour?” 

“I’m pretty sure I don’t remember reading that in the Anointed Texts.” I laughed, “But you’ll have my help.” 

Relief washed over Eros’ face. We took off through the church together, running through familiar hallways and skirting scowling nuns. If I met their gaze they’d notice the markings under my right eye and be able to tell me off later. I’d had the twin dots all my life and those two moles had gotten me into more trouble than any snitch ever had. 

We reached Red Street just as the sky began to shift from blue to pink. Denizens made way for us, our white church garb standing out against the mottled browns and greens of their daily dress. They had all been crowded around a large metal vessel, containing a soup of dried leaves, spices, and perfumes. The vessel was bigger than both of us, and it likely weighed more as well. Rolls of heavy wire-wrapped cables waited nearby, ready to bear the incense burner’s burden. 

“You didn’t think to grab anyone else to help, did you?” I asked staring down at the polished metal. 

“Nah.” Eros said, “Can’t have them all thinking I’m a slacker.” 

“Of course not.” I sighed. 

Eros’ poor planning would be our downfall. Unless we enlisted the help of the hesitant denizens there was no way we’d be able to lift the thurnible. I used to not mind calling on them for help, but they seemed suspicious, distrustful lately. The Vicars had said the church needed to appear strong; asking for help would tarnish that ideal. I wouldn’t allow myself to cause doubt. 

“How do you suppose we go about this then?” I asked hoping Eros had a plan he’d neglected to share. 

“That was another one of those things I was thinking you would know how to do.” Eros admitted. 

“Remind me why the Vicars put you in charge of things?” I asked. 

Eros shrugged. 

I stepped closer to the incense burner, getting fingerprints on its shining surface. Reflected back in the metal was the sky, and a series of approaching figures. Worried the denizens might be coming forward to question our motives I turned away from the burner and looked over my shoulder. The approaching crowd was hardly the group of denizens I wanted to see. 

They all wore dark clothes, and were well known for making trouble. They were really nothing more than a rowdy street gang, led by one Thayne Gallimore, creating the usual sort of trouble. They were a personal headache for me, as Thayne always seemed to have the worst timing. He’d show up whenever the hourglass was about to run out and complicate things with his speeches and stories. The man was a showman and he’d recently decided to blame the Healing Church for all the evils of the world. 

“Ahh look at him boy-os! The face of church youth himself the pious Brother Kohso!” Thayne announced as he approached. He always spoke loudly as if he were an actor, trying to make sure the people at the back of the theater can hear him. 

You’re no brother of mine.” I replied, leaving the incense burner and meeting his eyes. 

For all his condemnation of Healing Church doctrine Thayne kept with our beliefs quite well. His face had been pierced in several places, his lips eyebrows and ears sparkled with silver, which we of the church believe would keep the beats at bay. The church’s store of quicksilver, melted into thousands of bullets had saved countless hunters. 

“Come now, come now.” Thayne laughed throwing an arm around my shoulders, “Surely you must think of me as family, we do see each other so often.” 

I pushed his arm off. Dirt from his shirtsleeve left smudges on my church robes. “I could arrange for you to not be seen again.” 

Thayne put a hand to his heart, feigning surprise. “Are you threatening me?” 

“No, I’m strongly advising you and your friends leave me and mine alone.” I said sternly. 

“I do believe those are fighting words, good Brother. Red Street is my territory, and the way I see it you and your kind are trespassing. What is the purpose of that thing behind you? Surely it is a nefarious Healing Church contraption, designed to quicken the spread of infection.” 

Thayne was no longer looking at me when he spoke. He had climbed to the top of a pile of crates and was addressing the on looking denizens. His darkly dressed friends were sprinkled throughout the gathered crowd, gauging their reaction. The sky had shifted from pink to reds and oranges, we were losing the light. 

Eros opened his mouth to retaliate, but I cut him off. The showman’s grudge was against me. 

“It’s an incense burner. We believe the scent wards off beats, considering none have attacked any of the cathedrals we’ve installed these in. Furthermore if anything you are invading our territory. The Vicars secured a permit to hang this and I sincerely doubt that you’re street-speeches are sanctioned by the proper authorities.” I replied. 

Thayne sneered, and suddenly a solution to my problem had presented itself. 

“In fact unless you atone for your slanderous claims against the Healing Church, my companion and I will have no choice but to report you to the city watch for disturbing the peace.” I retaliated. “So why don’t you and your little band of thieves help us raise this burner. The sooner we get this done the sooner we’ll leave and the sooner you can go back to spouting your lies.” 

Thayne hopped off his perch and spat onto the cobblestones. He snapped his fingers and his allies fell in line behind him. “Alright Church Boy. You win this one, but don’t think this is over.” 

“Of course not.” I said. 

Now that we had the necessary strength the thurnible was raised off the ground by degrees. We secured it to the rooftops just as the lamplighters began their nightly rounds. Thayne decided to credit himself for the burner and whisked one of the lighters away from its owner, extending it out to the great metallic vessel. Wick sparked against oil and the showman completed our task for us. 

Eros and I headed up Red Street back towards the cathedral. Eros was quick to express his gratitude, pulling me into a bakery he was fond of and insisting on purchasing pastries for the both of us. 

“You know we are hosting a banquet for the incoming Executioners tonight, right?” I asked wiping a smudge of raspberry filling from my cheek. 

“Yeah, so?” Eros asked as he crunched through day-old chocolate croissants. His robes were covered in crumbs “I don’t see what the problem is.” 

I shook my head at him and we exited the shop. The warm smells of baking bread and sweet pastry cream evaporated into the putrid stench of rotting flesh. The corpse cart was pushed past us, piled high with the decaying bodies of the ones we hadn’t been able to heal .Eros and I bowed our heads as the cart passed us. I offered up a prayer to Odeon, hoping he could ferry their spirits to safety. The last red brushstrokes of the sunset were hardly visible beyond the high rooftops of Yharnam when we returned to the church. The entire congregation was already waiting on the stairs, holding white wax candles and looking down the path for the Executioners. 

“Ah, finally decided to join us then have you?” The stern voice of Sister Veera greeted us. 

“Sorry Sister.” I said, giving her the customary church bow. She didn’t dignify me with reciprocation, “We had-“ 

“Stopped to spend the church’s coffers on frivolities.” She finished for me. 

“It wasn’t Kohso’s idea.” Eros said. 

“I don’t remember asking whose idea it was.” She snapped. “Now you boys fall in line and try not to make fools out of yourselves.” 

“Yes ma’am.” we said replying and bowing in unison before retreating further down the stairs. 

The brothers I’d grown up with were clustered towards the back of the assembled. Those up front sidestepped to allow us through. Waiting behind the veritable curtains of white and black church 

robes were brothers and sisters I’d known all my life. Eros and I took up our white candles and lit them from our friends’. The last red scar of sunset had vanished and the streets of Yharnam were transformed into a strange dreamscape, bathed in a mixture of moonlight and glowing candles. We looked like snow sprinkled down the steps, standing out from the shadows. The once familiar faces started to become ghostly and distorted, under lit from the flickering flames. I was worried that we wouldn’t be recognized. 

“Here they come!” 

The excited shout of one of the younger novices was met with a mix of tolerant smiles and annoyed glares. The truth of it echoed in our ears, slowly the shadows seemed to split open. Far, far down at the end of the path a huddle of shapes came into view. I squinted and started, looking between the shoulders of the churchmen in front of me. The Executioners carried their weapons outright; they didn’t conceal them for the denizen’s sake. We of the church were never that bold. Moonlight sparkled off shined swords and coated the strange spiked Logarius Wheel weapons with white light until they seemed to be made of bones. Each of the Executioners had a hood pulled up over their heads and a black scarf covering their mouths and noses. Each was identical to the other, broad shouldered and strong. My efforts to seek out the one in particular that I had correspondence with were for naught. I would have to seek him out after he’d been received. 

As they drew closer I noticed that some of them were huddled together. While most of the Executioners marched along in neat rows, two by two, there was a delegation of six or seven circled around something. They must have come bearing gifts for the Healing Church, pushing them along. None of us could see beyond the wall of their arms and the great wheels. They held them up like shields, shielding the concealed offering. 

“Hope it’s more Powder Keg weapons.” Eros whispered to me. 

I shushed him, the last thing we needed was another nun snapping at us. Veera was going to make sure that we paid for being late, she wasn’t one to let things slide. We’d find out what the Executioners had brought us before long. 

Lanthem, our head Vicar was waiting for them, standing open armed in the door way of the church. He watched the Executioners file in, making no move to crane his neck for a better view. He didn’t strain his eyes squinting into the darkness, struggling to make out the shape of each and every passing executioner. Vicar Lanthem waited calmly, a paragon of dignity. 

When the Executioners reached the end of the road they spread out on the church grounds, so that each could lock eyes with our leader. Vicar Lanthem took a step forward. The Executioners all dropped to one knee, their devotion and respect for the Healing Church had always been strong. 

“Rise my brave hunters.” Vicar Lanthem instructed, “Rise and come inside. It has been a long time since we have spoken, and there is much to tell.” 

The leader of the Executioner’s removed her hood. She had her fair hair pinned up in an elaborate style. The roots of her hair were pulled back and pinned so severely it hurt my scalp just to look at it. She spoke with a strange accent, having come from the Hinterlands or perhaps, beyond. Tales of her exploits were well known, and often shared, especially between the younger sisters. They saw Executioner Larissa as something to strive for, equal parts grace and efficiency. It was said she had never met a beast she couldn’t kill and that she rode at the great Martyr Logarius’ right hand during the Cainhurst Seige. 

“Thank you for your hospitality, Father Vicar “, Larissa said as she rose, “The sight of your Healing Church and all it’s fine young hunters is a ray of hope in this otherwise dark world. You keep your streets cleansed and it heightens the spirits of every Executioner. We will always relish our return to your church’s warm embrace.” 

Vicar Lanthem beamed with pride, Larissa’s praise filled words were much needed. There had been too much concern over the reputation of the Healing Church, it was good to have a vote of confidence. Without further delay the Executioners began to file inside, still concealing their gift. The Choir members, High Vicars and other superiors fell in line behind them, and we slowly began to recede through the doors, extinguishing our candles as we went. 

The dining room had been draped in silk tapestries. There were banners of stark white with our church’s sigil; a black cross bordered with two violets. The flowers were used to purify blood in the days before the hunt, they were useless for preventing the Scourge now but the symbolism was undeniable. We had also hung the dark blue banners of the Executioners, shimmering with their silver-embroidered wheels. The dining table, an enormous piece of furniture was polished to an unbelievably rich black. Dedicated hands had spent days removing all signs of wear from the well-used wood. 

“Have you spotted him yet?” Eros asked as we shuffled into the dining room, pressing ourselves against the walls. 

“Who?” I asked, more focused on finding a place to sit then holding a conversation. 

“Your Executioner, the one that brought you here? Arthur or whoever.” Eros replied. 

“It’s Alfred.” I shot back, “And no, I haven’t.” 

Eros and I navigated the crowded room before finding our places on the wide wooden benches that ran alongside the dining table. Chairs had been placed at either end, our Vicar had taken one and Larissa claimed the other. The spaces closest to both of them were occupied almost immediately, leaving the less swift Executioners and Church Hunters mingling in the middle. 

Most of the people who had taken their places near me were familiar. Eros was on my left, to my right was Yilmarie, the novice apothecary, who’s incense mixtures were always either the most potent, or the most disastrous. Across from us were several Executioners. Their faces were familiar enough for me to think they’d been here before, but not so much that I could put a name to any of them. 

It was a long wait until everyone was seated. I looked up and down the rows of hunters but caught no sight of Alfred. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to get away from his work this time. I began to fear illness, or possibly death might be the cause for his absence. It was rare but non unheard of for an Executioner to die on the hunt, they were resilient and often worked in large groups, but accidents could happen. It didn’t seem like Alfred to be reckless, he always cautioned me with wise counsel and urged that preparation and awareness were two of a hunter’s greatest weapons. 

“Looking for someone?” one of the Executioners across the table from me asked. She wore her hair in a style near identical to Larissa’s, though it was black as opposed to her leader’s blond. 

“Yes, actually.” I replied, “Is Executioner Alfred with you? Everyone was wearing hoods earlier it was hard to tell.” 

She nodded her understanding, “When we’re out before the hunt Larissa prefers us to be seen as a single entity, that’s why we wear the hoods.” 

“I see.” I said. 

“To answer your question, yes Alfred has made the journey with us.” The Executioner studied my face for a few moments before recognition hit; “He was eager to see you, you’re Kohso I presume?” 

I nodded. “What gave it away?” 

She laughed rather than reply. “He spoke of you often. He’s bound to be joining us soon, he’s just making sure the offering we brought with us is secured.” 

“What is it then?” Eros asked jumping into the conversation, “Weapons? Blessed cloth from the far East? Some kind of sacred sea plant?” 

The Executioner shook her head, “Just wait and see.” 

Eros continued to badger her with more questions, which she skillfully deflected. She kept the inquisition at bay until every last hunter had made it to their seat. Vicar Lanthem tapped a fork against his glass calling for silence. Everyone’s conversations dropped dead as the Vicar began to seek a blessing from the Ancient Ones. 

“Odeon above hear our cries, separate the truth from lies. Keep the evil blood at bay, and let us hunt another day.” Lanthem prayed. 

We all echoed him, hundreds of voices echoing through the high dining room ceiling. The Formless Odeon, god amongst gods was largely a mystery to us. The Anointed Texts had little to say about Odeon, and the god had yet to make its presence known to us. For all its mysterious nature and secret ways it was Lanthem’s favorite to pray too. 

After the formalities had been finished, silver coverings were taken off trays and the feasting began. We let the Executioners take their portions first. Lanthem always insisted on eating last of any of us, putting the congregation before himself. He often talked of things like that. It was easy to begin to see hunters as superior to the denizens we protected, but Lanthem wished it the other way round. Hunters, he believed were more tools than anything else. We stood as a wall or a gate stands, worthless if not for the thing it protects. 

Discussions were had over a variety of subjects, but I had trouble paying attention. There were too many things happening all at once, dinners like this were one of those overwhelming times where I wasn’t able to make sense of things. Too many people was as bad as too many beasts, and I was beginning to feel backed into a corner. I kept my head down and slurped up spiced soup, trying to focus on the flavor. It was scalding hot and I scorched my tongue, losing all of my ability taste with the first spoonful. 

The Executioner across the table, Francine, tried to strike up more conversations with me. She wanted to hear about the fishing village and Alfred’s rescue. I wasn’t old enough to remember anything about it. My first memories all took place in Odeon Chapel, and I only knew of the past because of what Alfred had told me. My parents would’ve been killed or turned, and he thought it best I be raised to hunt so I’d been brought here. I’d been called an orphan before, but it held no teeth for me. I had a family so large it made me uncomfortable to eat with them all at once. Blood wasn’t everything. 

I concentrated on my voice, I didn’t want it to shake. The apprehension I felt towards the chained coffin need not be obvious. “Why is your-“ 

Alfred held up his hand and shook his head. He reached into his robe and removed a key, fishing it out from around his neck. He leaned over the coffin and fitted the key into an iron padlock. The click of the lock as it opened echoed through the empty room. One by one he removed the chains covering the coffin’s lid. The links rattled where they clashed against a floor, the hissing of metal snakes. 

Alfred put a hand to either side of the coffin lid, firmly grasping the wooden panel. Alfred looked back at me, making sure I was giving him my full attention. We locked eyes and the Executioner wrenched the lid off the coffin with a sudden flourish. 

Whatever had been contained was not made immediately obvious by the lids removal. The coffin hadn’t been filled to the brim, nothing spilled out once the top was removed. I took a step closer and peered over the edge. 

“Kos above.” I muttered. 

“Kos had nothing to do with it.” Alfred assured me. 

Secured inside the coffin was a human, or at least at one time it had been human. The silver mask covering its face made it obvious, Alfred had brought a Vileblood into Odeon Chapel. The creature was incredibly thin, barely more than bone. Silver chains, bolted to the back end of the coffin held the monsters arms, crossed, tight across its chest. There were manacles around its wrist and a collar locked around its neck, all similarly secured with bolts. 

“Why would you bring something like this into our church?” I asked, stepping away from the coffin. I fiddled with the silver ornamentations on my robe, making sure each was secured in its place. I didn’t want to take any chances of catching the Vileblood infection. 

“A sacrifice for the church, of course.” Alfred explained. “We are Executioners after all, what better way to reassure your denizens of the Church’s power then a public execution of one of the most hated beasts of all. I captured this creature myself on the crumbling moors of Mensis, usually we are quick to dispel them on the spot but I thought perhaps, this might be of aid.” 

Reassured that Alfred hadn’t any thoughts of betraying the church and losing the terrible creature, I began to see the pieces of his plan fall into place. The spectacle, a Vileblood put to a righteous death at the hands of the Healing Church would be quite the sight. Setting aside Thayne’s theatrics there was precious little source of entertainment for the Yharnimites. No traveling shows or open air plays had taken place since the hunt began. It was almost an unspoken quarantine, stay where you were or risk contamination. No one did much traveling now, but they might make a migration to see something like this. 

“You brought him all this way because of my letters?” I asked. 

“Well more so due to the information contained therein.” Alfred corrected, “But, yes. We cannot have people doubting their hunters or the Church’s cures.” 

I nodded. The restrained Vileblood hadn’t moved. It didn’t respond to anything we said. I looked a little closer, if not for its chest rising and falling I would’ve thought it dead. In a sense I suppose it was dead, or returned from death, so its lack of life shouldn’t bother me. All the same it did. 

“We’ve been keeping him sedated.” Alfred explained, noticing my apprehension. 

“Do you know who this one was?” I asked. 

“Yes.” Alfred replied. 

He reached into his robes once more, this time removing a red-leather bound book. Two gold lions were embellished on the front cover. I recognized it as a copy of the Vileblood Register. Alfred flipped through a few of the weather-beaten pages, seeking something specific. His finger trailed along the printed sentences as he combed through the information. Finally the Executioner found what he was looking for. He looked up from his book, once again confirming my undivided attention. 

“This is one Sir Cassius Battenberg, a knight sworn to service of the Vileblood Queen, Annalise. Over the course of his career Cassius was responsible for the death of five hundred hunters and numerous denizens. He is most noted for slaying the Executioners Sebastian and Regulus before fleeing the Cainhurst Massacre.” Alfred read. 

“You were at the Massacre, weren’t you?” I asked. 

“Yes and I was friends with the people he killed.” Alfred said, “Sebastian was a force to be reckoned with; stronger and more reckless then any hunter I’d ever seen before. He often spoke of joining the Powder Keg Hunters; their weapons and spirit more suited to his tastes. Cainhurst was going to be his last battle as an Executioner, but thanks to Sir Cassius it was his last battle period.” Whenever Alfred spoke of Vilebloods he seemed to have a personal attachment to each. The foul creatures had taken everything from him. The Executioner wasn’t finished speaking, “Regulus had his problems too, a certain predisposition towards male hunters, which I assure you was not sanctioned by the church or myself. He frequented Red Street and was not amongst the more pious of out brotherhood. For a time there was even talk of letting him go, forcing him to become a lone hunter, but none was more skilled then he with a kirkhammer. Any time there was doubt of his importance to our cause Regulus would go out slaying, bringing back severed heads, leaving nothing but cleansed streets. He was one of my first mentors, I learned a good deal of my combat skills from him.” 

“He was from Yharnam then?” I asked. 

Alfred shook his head, “No. He was very tied to an employee of an establishment of ill repute on Red Street. He wanted to take his lover away from the depravities of the world but this was long before the gates and walls were built. A delegation of Cainhurst Knights came parading through the streets, at the time we welcomed them for nothing much of Vilebloods was known. We knew people were vanishing but not the why or how, and the knights promised to reveal these mysteries to us.” 

“You just let them in?” 

Alfred nodded, “They showed us alright. As soon as the sun went down they began their hunt, kicking in doors and spilling the blood of whomever came close. The massacre started near Red Street, and the knights were thorough. Regulus’ lover was devoured whole by the Vilebloods, and he swore revenge. Cassius cut his promise short.” 

“Well you’ll be able to avenge the both of them now.” I said, trying to offer the Executioner some comfort. 

“Indeed.” Alfred agreed. He blinked his eyes a few times and let out a yawn. “I fear I am growing rather weary, those memories took the last of my energy from me.” 

“Of course.” I said, rather ashamed that my prying had furthered the Executioner’s exhaustion. Alfred headed for the door, closing it securely behind him. It was only after I’d heard his boots retreat up the stairs that I realized he hadn’t put the lid back on the coffin, nor re-locked the chains. The Vileblood Cassius was still suitably restrained. Not to mention Alfred had sedated him. I was certain I had nothing to worry about. 

As the night wore on I began to wish I’d had more information about this task before I accepted it. I could’ve brought some reading material or strung together protection chains. There was nothing but melting candles and an open coffin to occupy my time. With nothing better to do I began to observe the once-human sacrifice more carefully. If I crossed paths with another Vileblood I wanted to be able to identify it properly. 

Visually they didn’t seem too different from any denizen or hunter I’d come across. The only notable abnormality was Cassius’ fingernails which had grown much longer then I’d seen before. I suspected this could be due to his elongated imprisonment but made a note of it all the same. Facial details were impossible to make out behind the silver helm. Upon closer inspection I noted burn marks and hastily welded metal around Cassius’ neck. That helm was not going to be removed any time soon. His skin had a grey tint to it, but that was not uncommon. Many with the Ashen Plague had similar manifestations, it was possible the Vileblood had caught both plagues in his abnormally long lifetime. 

They said that a Vilebloods’ blood didn’t look right either, that it was tinged with veins of silver and seeped out thin and sickly. I would take the beast-recorders at their word, as of now there was no desire to prove their theories. Depending on methods I may yet see the monster’s blood as he was killed. I couldn’t recall the proper church-approved method for killing Vilebloods but I doubted a hanging would be all that was needed to banish the beast. 

Somehow the vile immortals had one the favor of one of the Ancient Ones, a daughter of the Cosmos. It was said she would grant them another chance at life. You had to leave a Vileblood scattered to the winds; unable to reform, lest it return and seek revenge. 

I was so consumed within myself, trying to recall details about the nightmarish creatures that I was caught completely off-guard when the Vileblood began to move. It was just a small twitch in his fingers but it was enough to make me jump out of my skin. More time must’ve elapsed then I first thought. 

I longed for a sedative for the rest of the night. There were points where I was unsure when, if possessing it, I would’ve drugged myself or the Vileblood. The creature refused to relent keeping up a barrage of insults, please and threats. The creature hadn’t lost its ability to speak, nor control of its body, but its mind was going. Cassius lapsed into the personalities of three separate individuals. 

The first one I met was the spoiled Cainhurst noble, the loudest and most abrasive. Second came, what I believe his true self was. Once Cassius had tried to boss me around every way he could figure, his aristocratic façade crumbled away. He started to beg and bribe trying to appeal to me any way he could. Cassius said the chains burnt his skin. He said he didn’t want to die and told me if I let him go I would have more money than could be imagined, all of the riches of Cainhurst laid at my feet. 

I wondered if he knew that Cainhurst had fallen. Alfred hadn’t talked much about the aftermath, what happened once the first massacre was over. Surely there were some Vilebloods in hiding that had to be hunted down. There were some like Cassius, that had even managed to get past the gates and try to survive in the Forbidden Woods and the Hinterlands. I doubted the noble knew he was noble no longer, he had no riches to offer. He had no castle to retreat too. 

The last of his voices was the one that really made my skin crawl. He didn’t say anything he just laughed. For hours he crackled, shaking the coffin, amused by some private joke that I couldn’t understand. Madness had no doubt taken him too. 

When the door of the room was opened the next morning, I thought someone was going to try and attack me. I had a knife in my hands, ready to toss it into the heart of whoever came through the entrance. There was a moment’s hesitation as I waited for the person to reveal themselves. I recognized Alfred’s fair hair. Relief washed over me and I slipped the blade back into my sleeve. 

I amended my greeting, folding my hands one over the other and bending over in a standard church bow. 

“Rough night?” Alfred asked before returning the greeting. 

“You forgot to close the coffin.” I said. 

“I didn’t forget Kohso.” Alfred replied, “I wanted you to see what a Vileblood was like. If you’re going to become an Executioner you need to know your prey.” 

“You could’ve given me some warning!” I said, “What if he’d gotten loose?” 

“Well you had your blades, didn’t you?” Alfred asked. 

“Yes but-“ 

He cut me off, “An Executioner must trust their fellow hunters completely. You must’ve trusted the chains to hold him back, or else you would not have spent the entire night here. On the other side of the coin, I trusted you to be able to handle yourself if anything did go wrong. The world outside will not give you such a fair chance. I assure you Kohso, this was all done for your benefit.” 

I nodded bowing again, ashamed at my outburst. I should’ve known it from the start, Alfred never would’ve been so careless as to leave a dangerous creature unsecured. 

“I’m sorry I doubted you, Executioner.” I said 

Alfred placed a hand on my shoulder. “Come now let’s have none of the formalities. You have performed exceptionally well. Run along and get some rest, you’ll want to be wide awake for the execution.” 

“Thank you.” I said. 

I looked back at the coffin once more, before leaving. Cassius Battenberg’s laughter still rang in my ears. It was the kind of sound you couldn’t shake despite all your best efforts. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep with it haunting me. 

Before heading back up the elevator I took a turn and headed towards the Apothecary Workshop. There was a whole network of tunnels under Yharnam that culminated at Odeon Chapel. Their exits and entrances were hidden in the back walls of shops and taverns, trapdoors covered over with threadbare rugs. I didn’t get the chance to explore them often, but the one in particular I turned down was as familiar to me as my own name. 

I had gone down this tunnel to visit Yilmarie thousands of time. He was always dashing back and forth from the herbalists and gardeners, then home to his workshop room again. He was always out of something specific, insistent that his recipes would not be the same if he had even just a pinch less Lumenflower powder than usual. 

I tried the entrance to the herbalists shop first. Climbing the rungs of a metal ladder I came up through a trap door behind a display of dried fruits and bundles of crumbling leaves. Everything smelled like dust. 

I rubbed the weariness from my eyes and looked around. There was early morning light coming in through the windows. People walked the streets outside, getting their days started. The small shop was a maze of counters, barrels and displays. I navigated them as best I could, trying not to knock anything over. Little Yilmarie could run through the aisles without fear, but I was built bigger and stronger. Bones knocked against my shoulders and I bumped my knee on a pail full of corn husks, spilling the crackly yellow casing everywhere. I kneeled down, scooping the spilled plants back into their bucket. I bumped my head on one of the display tables when I stood up again. 

“Having trouble?” Yilmarie chuckled. 

The little scamp had been watching me the whole time. His arms were full of bundles wrapped in brown paper, and clear glass jars with colorful liquids. 

“More than you can imagine.” I said brushing the dust from the shop floor off my robes. “I was up all night and can’t get to sleep. Do you think you could brew me a quick sleeping draft?” 

“Of course!” Yilmarie declared. He started for the secret door at once. 

I offered to carry some of the packages but Yilmarie wouldn’t hear of it. He shoved bottles into his sleeves and wedged a pile of packages between his chin and his neck, freeing his hands to climb down the ladder. He made quick work of it scurrying down into the tunnels with practiced ease. 

We were back in the brewery before long. Yilmarie’s packages which had been precious, things clutched to the chest and coveted as they were carried through the store were now piled in a heap on a spare chair. He hadn’t even turned on the gaslight before shuffling through drawers and filling a small pot of water. I turned it on for him. 

“I don’t need it.” Yilmarie said, regarding the light with contempt. “Sleeping drafts are easy. I’ll have this ready before you know it.” 

“You’re going to go blind, like those big-eyed rats they’ve been reporting if you keep yourself drowned in darkness down here. You act like you’re a mole, Yil, but you’re not. You’re a hunter, and you haven’t been out in months.” 

“I was out last night.” Yilmarie quipped, “I came up and dined with you, didn’t I?” 

“Yes, but that’s not what I meant.” I said, “You haven’t killed anything in months.” 

Yilmarie shrugged, then turned back to chopping up stems of lavender. “I’ve been busy. The incense seems to work, but I only get it right half the time. I’m always two steps behind the other apothecaries.” 

“They work off your recipes.” I laughed, bemused by Yilmarie’s narrowed prospective, “There wouldn’t be an incense that could ward off beasts if you hadn’t invented it. So what if you screw it up half the time?” 

“I waste time and resources.” Yilmarie said, crouching down until he was at eye level with the boiling pot. He carefully squeezed a drop of unlabeled black sludge into the bubbling water. “Every failed batch is hundreds of coins wasted.” 

“The Healing Church has more than enough to cover the cost of a bad batch or two.” I assured him, “A night out on the hunt won’t kill you.” 

“Why the interest in my hunting habits all-of-a-sudden?” Yilmarie asked. 

“I’ve been talking with Alfred a lot.” I told him, “And I think there’s a chance he might take me away and train me to become an Executioner.” 

“You say that every time he visits.” Yilmarie said, stirring the bubbling mixture. “You said it when you were five. You insisted when you were ten and you were so sure of it when you were twelve that you saved all of your pocket money for traveling expenses. You were so sad when-“ 

“Yes I know!” I growled, “But it’s different this time.” 

“You said that when you were twelve too.” Yilmarie quipped. 

“Yes. I know.” I sighed, “But I really mean it. Alfred pulled me aside last night, he showed me something. You’ll see it later, but things really are different this time. If Alfred asks me to go with him I’m going to go. I don’t know how many hunts with you and Eros I’ll have left, Yil. Can’t you come with us one last time?” 

Yilmarie rolled his eyes, pouring the completed draft into a glass for me. “You’re so dramatic Kohso. If it’s really that important I’ll be with you the next time you go.” 

He handed me the glass. The liquid inside was still warm. I sniffed it, the draft smelled like mushrooms and dirt with overtones of lavender and lemongrass. Not unpleasant, but not really the smells you’d be seeking out in a beverage. I raised it towards Yilmarie. 

“Thank you.” I said and drained the glass. 

The draft started to work the moment I reached my room. My eyelids grew heavy and my movements slowed down. Every time I tried to lift my legs it felt like they were stuck in syrup. Pulling off my robes and getting into bed seemed to take hours, but the second my head hit the pillow I was out. There was no laughter and no dreams, just the relaxing darkness of a good night’s sleep. 

Of course the respite didn’t last. 

The next thing I knew Eros was shaking me awake. 

I blinked my eyes, and he came into focus. 

“Kohso come on get your lazy ass up!” He shouted. 

I tried to shove his hands off my shoulders. He must’ve known I was awake by now but he kept shaking me. I hated when he did this, bursting into my room unannounced and swearing. I don’t know where he picked it up but Eros had learned to pick locks so now not even keys could keep him out. 

“I’m up.” I muttered. 

“About bloody time.” Eros cried. He abandoned his shaking to throw my robes in my face, “You sneak off last night to go sleep. You’re a fucking worthless wingman you know that Kohso?” 

“I never agreed to be your wingman.” I replied flinging off the sheets and pulling the robe over my head. “You also never asked.” 

“I shouldn’t have to ask!” Eros said, “I let you leave me last night but you are not, I repeat not going to weasel your way out of this one. Not on my watch.” 

“What’s happening?” I asked. 

“They’re doing an execution. Come on, get up or we’re gonna be late and Verna’ll kill us!” 

Eros couldn’t stand still. He tossed my boots at me and tapped his foot impatiently while I laced them up. Every few seconds he glanced at the door. He didn’t wait for me to comb my hair or wash my face. The second I had my shoes on he grabbed my arm and yanked me out the door and into the hall. 

The bedrooms were all empty but the stairs and main exits were clogged. Everyone blurred together in a bright mass of white robes. They were so stark and sparkling clean they hurt to look at. My eyes had yet to adjust to the light. As annoying as it was to be pulled out of bed by the overexcited Eros I was glad he had wakened me. I would’ve disappointed to sleep through the execution. Yilmarie’s draft was stronger than expected. 

“This is taking too long.” Eros grumbled. 

I didn’t mind waiting in line, advancing in small steps with the crowd of Church Hunters. There was safety and strength in numbers. Eros, on the other hand was driven all but insane by it. When he got excitable all of his patience vanished like smoke. 

We slowly made our way out the church doors, inch by inch. There were hunters backed down all along the stairway. When the church met the main street the brothers and sisters mixed in with a growing crowd of denizens, everyone ambling towards the circular promenade. Eros tried to bob and weave his way through the crowd, but the hunters stood rigid, shoulder to shoulder. He could not slide past them. 

“We’ll end up in the back, we won’t be able to see anything.” He complained. “All because you had to get your beauty rest.” 

“It’s not like you had to come and wake me up.” I defended. 

“If I didn’t get you I’d never hear the end of it.” Eros replied. 

He was right. If I had found out he’d let me sleep through something like this I would’ve held a grudge for months. I should be far more grateful, but I was still waking up. Gratitude was an emotion for later in the day. 

It didn’t take long for the denizens to realize that something big was about to happen. They were quick to capitalize on the situation. Rolling out carts that had laid dormant since the hunt began, they began to shout their wares; old sales pitches bringing life back to silent streets. I saw silver coins exchange hands, more than once a church hunter purchased something frivolous. We were as interested and excited as anyone, glad to have a fitting excuse for an afternoon away from Odeon Chapel. Sisters decorated themselves with new satin hair ribbons. Eros’ complaining momentarily relented when he began crunching away on a pack of candied cashews. I kept my coins to myself. 

When we spilled out into the promenade the crowd split, spreading out across the open ground. There was room to breathe. In the middle of the great stone circle was a wooden stage. There was no shortage of Executioners standing on its surface. They kept their hoods up, pulled over their faces despite the late noon sun. I could feel the heat of its rays through my robes, and began to sweat. 

There was no way of knowing if Alfred was one of the Executioners on stage, but Cassius sure was. They had his coffin propped up, so that he was standing. Everyone could see inside. Denizens jostled for positions close to the stage, all of them eager to get a glimpse of the hostile creature. Most of the older ones had seen Vilebloods before, but the younger and more energetic were yet to face them. Cassius was the first for many, myself included. 

I caught sight of Thayne Gallimore struggling his way to the front of the line. I don’t know if he’d ever seen a beast before, even the commonplace Lycian variety that were often sighted throughout Yharnam. He was struggling to see it, but once his eyes took in the creatures form he was on the retreat. If it was any other beast I might have been ready to laugh at him, but I couldn’t blame Thayne for being spooked by the Vileblood. Cassius was still raving, just like he had been last night. The only notable difference about him was that they’d forced his head into an iron cage. The metal box didn’t conform well to the walls of the coffin, and Cassius had to lean forward and keep his head bowed in order to wear it. I was sure this was intentional. I couldn’t fault them for the precaution either, one bite from a Vileblood and you were done, that much was common knowledge. As the clamor of crowd grew so did Cassius’ voice. Even from behind his cage bars, he shouted above them, demanding his release. 

There was something in me that wanted to fight my way to the front of the crowd, but I decided to suppress it. I wanted to be sure I could see what the Executioners were doing, monitor their methods. Standing to close to the stage I’d be jostled to and fro, unable to see anything. There was a good chance I’d get sprayed with blood or singed by flames. Even now, gathered in the square I didn’t know how they were going to kill him. They could burn him, the stage and coffin would go up, and the promenade would smell like cooked meat for weeks afterwards. I was unsure of the effect immolation had on creatures like Vilebloods. Perhaps they would survive it. 

“You see Yilmarie anywhere?” Eros asked me as we navigated through the torrents of denizens. 

I scanned the faces of the crowd. The Apothecary wasn’t among them. “I don’t see him.” 

“He shouldn’t miss this.” Eros said, “This is the most excitement we’ve had in months.” 

We surveyed the scene for a better vantage point. Eros landed on one of the leafless trees. We pulled ourselves through the bare branches. Our robes were snagged by twigs, making the climb a difficult one. The soft leather boots that were standard pieces of our garb were far from ideal for tree climbing, I slipped more then I’d care to admit. Eros was always there to lend a hand, he had kicked off his boots before starting the ascent. His feet got a much better grip on the bark in their soft socks. Once we were high enough into the branches to see over the shoulders of the people below us we settled onto separate branches, bracing our backs against the bark. 

“How do you think they’re going to do it?” I asked Eros, I was burning with curiosity. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Eros chuckled. 

“Would I be asking you if I thought it was obvious?” I muttered back. 

“Guess not.” Eros shrugged, “I don’t know how you could miss it though. They carry wheels with them everywhere, it’s their blood symbol for Kos’ sake!” 

“I don’t follow.” I said 

“Eh, just wait and see.” Eros said, waving me off. He didn’t think it was worth the explanation. It would take too much effort. 

I tried not to let my irritation show. I was never able to determine how, but Eros always seemed to know information in places I was lacking. He never sat down and studied, I was almost certain he hadn’t even read the Anointed Texts, which were supposed to be memorized by ever Church Hunter. Eros just came by things organically, learning on the go. He never had to work for it. To know he knew more about the Executioners then me, even if it was just some small fact, annoyed me to no end. It was like having a small scrap of food stuck in your teeth, insignificant but impossible to ignore and exceedingly irritating. 

My only solace was the Vileblood’s impending death. Once the execution was carried out I’d have filled in the gaps of my knowledge. 

“Want any?” Eros asked, stirring me from my thoughts, offering the crumbs of his bag of cashews to me. I stared into the paper sack, considering the offer. 

“No thanks.” I said. 

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged titling the bottom of the bag upwards and pouring the contents into his open mouth. They tumbled haphazardly onto his robe, adding salt and clumps of candied coating to the pastry and chocolate from the night before. He never washed his robes unless they were beyond recovery. 

It took forever for the execution to begin. I didn’t recognize the Executioner who began speaking to the crowd, but he introduced himself as Lazarus. His voice didn’t have the merry aristocratic tones that permeated Alfred’s speech, so I was fairly certain it was not my companion on stage. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen thank you for joining us.” Executioner Lazarus began, holding up his hands to get control of the crowd. He waited for the onlookers to stop talking amongst themselves and milling around. There was a lot of shuffling and craning necks, everyone wanted a better view then their neighbors. They took a while to quiet down. The Executioner tapped his foot, trying to remain patient. 

“You ready?” Eros asked. 

What else would I be? I nodded, but didn’t turn to face him. I kept my eyes locked on Lazarus. 

Once we reached a suitable level of silence, the Executioner continued. “Today you will see the power of the Healing Church firsthand. There are those amongst the crowd, I am sure who doubt their ability to competently handle the hunt. This demonstration will eradicate all of these ridiculous accusations.” 

“Not likely.” Thayne replied, thinly veiling his statement behind a few overzealous coughs. 

Lazarus didn’t take time to acknowledge the comment, “By now you have all seen the monster we’ve imprisoned for you. This is a Vileblood, ladies and gentlemen, one of the greatest dangers to us all. I am sure the night of the Red Street Murders is an event that is well known, I will not force you to relive its horrors. This creature, once a man called Cassius Battenberg, is among those responsible for that night. Ladies and gentlemen will you see him put to justice?” 

The crowd was eager to have their revenge. They had not forgotten the Vilebloods crimes, and now that they had someone to direct their anger towards they didn’t hold back. They demanded blood. 

“Very well, Ladies and Gentlemen. In keeping with the old ways, shall we not have a trial?” Lazarus asked. I am sure that many of them had just come for the execution, and were eager to see a slaughter. Still many more had come out of curiosity, some perhaps, not even knowing there would be a death to witness. These were the ones who made their voices heard, certain that Lazarus wanted their opinion. They spoke their consent, and together their hesitant approval echoed in volumes around the promenade. 

“Very well.” Lazarus said, “Cassius Battenberg you stand accused of being an inhuman monster. You slaughtered two of our own Executioners, in addition to nameless hundreds of denizens; selfishly draining them for blood so that you might become immortal. What have you to say for yourself?” 

“Maggots, that is all you are.” Cassius growled to the onlookers. “I could crush you by the thousand beneath my boots. The wrath of Cainhurst will reign down upon you until the end of your days.” 

Thayne, safely distancing himself towards the middle of the crowd, chuckled. He hated the aristocrats completely, what few of them still remained in Yharnam. He would imitate their ways of walking and insult their clothing as they went past him in the streets. His laughter caught and spread, the crowd was mocking the Cainhurst noble before long. Again Lazarus had to wait for silence. They were quicker to quiet themselves this time. 

Lazarus turned towards Cassius, “Squash them all huh? So do you admit to killing fine people like the ones before you.” 

The Vileblood grinned, “I have devoured a hundred like them, and would have no problem doing the same thing until the end of the days.” Cassius growled back. 

“Very well friends, we have our confession!” Lazarus declared, “Are there any opposed, who would speak on the Vileblood’s behalf?” 

We began to scan the crowd, looking for any sign of disagreement. I looked over my shoulder, but saw no signs of opposition. There was only one deserter, someone in a cloak who slunk through the fence and headed away from the promenade. 

“It is only by the blessings of the Ancient Ones that we can distribute justice like this. It is from them, through us, to you.” Lazarus continued. 

One of the other Executioners passed Lazarus a Logarius Wheel. He lifted the wheel above his head, making sure everyone could see it. 

“It is an Executioner’s job to bring things full circle, to complete the God’s plans. To carry out the sentences we pass. We are the bringers of death, Ladies and Gentlemen, the righteous reapers. The wheel is our chosen weapon, the symbol of the cyclic nature of our work.” Lazarus continued. 

“Get on with it!” Thayne demanded. He didn’t bother to cover this one with a cough. His friends echoed his calls. 

“Symbolism, however is not all we use this wheel for.” Lazarus said. 

With that his speech was done. He adjusted his grip on the Logarius Wheel, holding it like a weapon now. Lazarus drew back the weapon and slammed it, full-force into Cassius’ chest. It was a blow that might have shattered the bones of a normal man, but it did virtually nothing to the Vileblood. Cassius’ bones didn’t break. It was as though his skin was stone. The coffin took more damage than he did, splintering in several places. 

The crowd was invigorated by that first blow. It had swept them up in the gods-ordained violence and they were eager to see justice served. They wanted blood. They wouldn’t discriminate, even the sickly soured blood of a Cainhurst monster would do. 

Lazarus was ready to satisfy their demands. Other Executioners held their wheels up to the crowd, ready to assist. One after another the blunt sides of their circular weapons smashed into Cassius’ chest. They decimated the coffin, it’s sides buckled, cracked and broke while the Vileblood’s body remained intact. Other Executioners took a hold of Cassius’ chains, preventing escape. They had to brace themselves for each of the blows. Their limbs shook with the impact; they were strong hunters but the vigor Lazarus and the others had for their task wasn’t easy to withstand. Cassius was still yet to buckle, yet to bleed. Vilebloods had a stronger constitution then I would’ve guessed. 

They pounded him with their wheels for a good five minutes before anything happened. It came just as the crowd was beginning to lose its enthusiasm. Then the first spurt of blood came. It came in a gob of red and grey spit, expelled from Cassius’ mouth, coating the bars of his cage. The creatures blood had a strange silver tint to it, making it seem unclean and as vile as the monsters themselves. Once they had broken through, the blood came like a fountain. With every collision of wheel to flesh he expelled more. He gurgled and choked, blood spilling from between his lips. It sloshed through the cage bars and stained the metal. The next highlight was the bones. The snapping was sudden and sharp, a resounding crack. His ribs were smashed, pummeled until they were cracked concave. The Vileblood screamed in agony and sank to his knees. Cassius wasn’t laughing, demanding or pleading anymore. He couldn’t do anything more than vocalize his agony to an uncaring audience. 

We demanded his demise. 

Once the Vileblood was on his knees Lazarus focused all attention on the monster’s arms. Cassius tried to hold up his hands and block their blows. Instead of preventing damage, it focused their energy. He withstood the first few but then his bones shattered and his arms were reduced to rubbish. They were splattered across the stage. He lost his limbs, they were nothing, they were pulp. He became the same, slowly but surely. The Executioners erased any trace of the Vileblood. He was nothing but piles of flesh. Wheels and Executioners alike were covered in his remains. The people standing too close to the stage picked bone and blood out of their hair. 

“The power of the church, Ladies and Gentlemen.” Lazarus said, holding his arms wide and turning to face the crowd. His robes were soaked with blood. It ran in rivulets down the fabric and pooled at his feet. 

The majority of the crowd roared their approval but others stayed silent, held tight by a mix of fear and disgust. There were those amongst the onlookers with weak stomachs, and they had not been prepared for such a display. I was enraptured. They had obliterated a threat, in such a way as I had never seen before. Its destruction was so much more than a beast slain in the heat of the hunt. 

This was total. 

This was complete. 

Immortal creatures could not pull themselves back from complete destruction. They scooped him off the stage, pushing his remains into buckets and carrying what was left of Cassius away. The remains would be salted and prayed over, before being buried in separate graves, spread far apart. Nothing could come back from that. 

Satisfied with the outcome the crowd began to break apart. Merchants tried to sell their wares to the fast fading crowd, but the time for trinkets had passed. Everyone was eager to rejoin their own crowds of friends and compare accounts of what they’d witnessed. Stories of the Vilebloods death would be retold for weeks over tankards of ale in every tavern in Yharnam. Eros and I began to make our way down from the tree’s branches, joining the procession of people who were leaving the area. We matched their pace, a slow shuffle as lines began to form and bottleneck at the great gates. It would be just as it had been before, an agonizingly long wait to get where you wanted to go. It had been bearable before because we had the execution waiting for us. Now that we were just heading home I started to grow impatient. 

I turned towards Eros, about to complain, when the crowd began to part. Denizens shuffled sideways. Many of them bowed their heads as they made room. A path was carved out through the crowd, just for Eros and myself. I craned my neck, looking about and noticed other pockets, a few before us and a few behind where similar spaces were created for other church hunters. Everything worked as Alfred had said it would, respect for the Healing Church had returned to Yharnam. 

I couldn’t hold back the grin plastered across my face. Eros and I set our own pace. We passed through the gates and began to pass through the streets of Yharnam. I noticed Thayne and his goons stuck in the slow-moving crowd. Eros stuck out his tongue as we passed them. I wished he hadn’t, we had just gotten our reputation back, it would be a shame to destroy it so quickly. We were nearly at the turn off for the chapel, when I caught sight of the cloaked person again. I suspected they were the same one who had left the promenade early. They were leaning against the church yard fence, inches away from trespassing on the church’s grounds. Their cloak was black and it stood out against all the white church robes. 

I nudged Eros, jerking my head towards the lurker, trying to get a second opinion. He caught up in the moment, and either didn’t notice or chose to ignore my attempts to get his attention. I turned back towards the fence but the stranger had vanished. I tried to convince myself it was nothing, put the black cloaked shade out of my mind. This day had been incredible and I hated to see it darkened by something so insignificant. It was like getting something stuck in your teeth during an incredible meal, no matter how good the food was you kept returning to the little scrap that ruined the rest for you. It could’ve just been some trick, some weird mix of the darkened streets in combination with the exhilaration from the execution. I could’ve just been looking for trouble, but hunters were supposed to notice things that others didn’t. If only I’d taken a senior hunter with me, or had a Vicar close at hand to consult with. I decided I would try and find Alfred later, and see if he’d be able to put my mind at ease. Advice from Alfred always seemed to make things better. He had trusted me with watching Cassius, he knew I didn’t scare easy. He would trust me. 

We got into the church and everyone was packed into the lobby, talking excitedly. Even the Vicars and Choir members had smiles and a joyful air about them. Vicar Lanthem was walking among everyone, clapping his hunters on the back and congratulating them. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a jovial mood. The Executioners who hadn’t been present for the execution were treated as if they’d swung the wheels themselves. Young Hunters begged to see their weapons or hear stories, and the Executioners were happy to comply. We felt like a community again. I was making my way towards a few of the senior Vicars when Sister Veera grabbed the back of my robes and pulled me aside. In her other hand she had a fistful of Eros’ robes. 

“Oh no, I will not see you be part of a second celebration.” She said stiffly, “You’ve yet to put forth a penance for your earlier faults.” 

“Yes, Sister Veera.” We chorused. 

“Rather than spend the night rejoicing with our Executioner friends, Kohso, you can spend the night keeping watch for letters in the aviary. I understand you take this up as a pastime so I trust you know the methodology. It shouldn’t be a strain for you.” Veera said. 

“It’s imperative that I speak with Executioner Alfred, Sister Veera is there-“ 

She cut me off, “No. You will head to the aviary at once, and Eros will be joining the younger novices scrubbing pots in the kitchen. That ought to keep you busy. Now off with the both of you.” 

She wasn’t one to be argued with. Eros and I hardly had a chance to exchange a glance before we went our separate ways. I hung my head and slunk through the lobby, heading for the aviary stairs. The night air blowing in from the windows usually filled me with cold excitement, or wonder but now it just blew in the reek of the city. The majority of our doves and messenger pigeons had gone to roost, resting in their alcoves with their heads tucked under their wings. I climbed onto the oversized windowsill and looked out over the city rooftops. 

Orange gaslight sparkled on the cobblestones, reflecting back the fire I felt inside. The church warned against anger, it was the elements over present in beasts. We were taught to tamp it down, and make sure it didn’t consume us. It was rare I had trouble with rage but Veera had brought my plans to a standstill. 

The Executioners had completed their task. They never stayed long at the Healing Church. There were still Vilebloods on the loose and the would be eager to return to their hunt. If I didn’t talk to Alfred tonight, it could be years before I got the chance to speak with him again. If Veera had only taken a second to hear me out, she surely would’ve let me, at the very least give him a message. Time ticked by as I turned the thoughts over in my head. 

A knock on the door saved me from further lamenting my situation. 

I turned away from the window, curious to see who was asking entry. The Aviary was a common area, the door didn’t lock and there was no need for permission to enter. The long walk up the stairs usually stopped most people from wandering in. 

Once I saw who was in the doorway the knock made sense. Alfred opened the door and stepped inside the Aviary. His Executioner robes were cleaned, and there weren’t flecks of blood in his hair. He had either cleaned up or not been one of the ones participating in the Execution. 

“Eros told me I would find you here.” Alfred said, sitting across from me on the windowsill. “I wanted to speak to you. I saw you and your friend at the Execution, how very clever to watch from the trees.” 

“I wanted to speak with you too.” I said. 

Alfred smiled, “I’m glad you did, I’ve noticed your interest in becoming an Executioner, and well..” 

He stopped speaking and fished around in the pocket of his robes. He removed a small packet, wrapped in cloth and tied with twine. He passed it to me. Whatever was inside was heavier then I’d expected. 

“Thank you.” I said 

“Go on, open it.” Alfred encouraged. 

I was eager to rip apart the wrappings but I didn’t want to look like a child in front of the Executioner. I carefully tugged at the twine. The knots that Alfred had put into it were small and precise. I had to pick at them with my finger nails to get them undone. One by one they came undone until the cloth wrapping was free. I unfolded the fabric. Inside was a shining silver wheel on a chain, an Executioner’s badge. 

I looked down at it in disbelief. “T…t…” I stammered. 

“This means we’re going to train you to be an Executioner.” Alfred explained, picking up the necklace’s chain and putting it over my head. The silver wheel laid heavy against my chest. “I’ve spoken with Vicar Lanthem, and your induction was approved by the Executioners before I even arrived here. All we need now is the approval of the Hunter’s Council which is all but assured. We’ve never been denied before.” 

All of the anger and confusion faded away. I wasn’t able to do much besides smile. I couldn’t wait to tell the others. They were going to be so surprised. Yilmarie would have to eat his words, I knew this time was different. 

“Thank you.” I said, finally getting some words out. 

“You’re welcome.” Alfred replied, “You will head out with us in the morning.” 

“T-tomorrow morning?” I asked 

“Yes I’m afraid we really do need to get back on the road.” Alfred informed, “As inconvenient as it might be. I wasn’t allowed to let you know ahead of time. All novices have to have seen an Execution before they are inducted, and well we had to certify a strong stomach.” 

“I understand.” I said, “I..I just wanted to go out hunting with my friends one last time. Yilmarie doesn’t aspire to be an Executioner. I don’t think Eros actually aspires to anything either.” Alfred chuckled, “They will find their places. Every hunter does, some just more quickly than others. Not everyone was born of the same strife you were. You knew the horrors of the hunt before you could speak, it is no wonder you’ve longed to fight back.” 

“Yes.” I agreed, “I guess that must be part of it.” 

I ran my fingers over the shining medal, dipping them between the wheels spokes. I had wanted one of these for as long as I could remember. My fingerprints smudged the metallic surface and I rubbed them away with my robes. 

Alfred clasped his hand to my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it overmuch.” He cautioned, “The Healing Church is a fine establishment and many hunters have found their true calling here. It is likely they will stay and keep the streets of Yharnam clean, a much needed job. Not everyone is content to do it, and you see another occupation. There is nothing wrong with either option.” 

He was right of course, but I couldn’t help thinking of these city hunters as a bit soft. Their prey and location never varied. I had long since fallen into the routine of hunting around Yharnam. On my first hunt I’d hardly been able to take a step forward, terrified of whatever might be lurking in the shadows. Nowadays I didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. I had seen all there was to see in Yharnam, it was time to move on. 

“Well, I should be getting back to the festivities before I’m missed.” Alfred said. “Be ready to leave at first light.” 

I nodded and the Executioner slid himself off of the windowsill. Before he had crossed through the doorway I called out for him. 

“Alfred?” I asked. 

He paused mid-step and turned to face it, “Yes?” 

“Do you think you could maybe pass my regards onto Eros? Yilmarie too if you see him, I want them to know I would say goodbye if I could, but it would be irresponsible to leave my post.” I pleaded. 

Alfred grinned and nodded, “Of course.” 

“Thank you.” I said 

With a smile and a wave, he disappeared down the stairs and I was left to the empty aviary once more. Birds shifted in their sleep, their claws scritch-scratching against the rough cobblestone. Outside the only sounds were made by the wind. It blew squeaking doors ajar and rattled hanging shop signs. This only reached me in a muffled sense, most of the noises too distant to be heard from the towering church steeple. I knew they were being made all the same, I’d walked the nighttime streets on hunts. I preferred the squeaking to the silence, I’d give anything to go out on the streets. 

And it was not as though we of the church did not experience temptation. We resisted such impulses but no human is immune to the siren song of their own freewill. I knew without a doubt I could slip out the window, scale the wall and climb across the chapel rooftop without anyone being the wiser. I could slip out into the night and slay on the streets. I looked down at the shingled rooftop and shook my head, trying to dislodge the impulse. 

The hours wore on, I watched as the moon mapped its path through the sky, a continuous circuit, repeated every evening. The routine must have brought it solace, the Anointed Texts made mention of a creature who was tied to the celestial body. To my private understanding I thought of the moon as a great egg, containing the last of the Ancient Ones. There was something yet to be born, still waiting for the day where it drifted close enough to the sun for the heat to crack open the stars. Whatever form the new God took it was sure to be glorious. 

In that respect I hoped to be like the old Provost Willem who had seen more gods than any other man. He had spoken with them, tried to divine their secrets and siphon wisdom from their strange words. I felt that if only I could see what I had so long heard of, put a face and a scale to the paper descriptions I would understand my purpose as a hunter much the better. It could be a bleak existence if one lost sight of their purpose. 

I became lost in imaginary conversations with the ancient ones. The birds hardly made a sound and as the night wore on the city settled itself. I didn’t even notice when they came into the room, until Eros was shaking me. 

“Hey Kohso…Hello? You in there?” He asked as he rocked my shoulders back and forth. 

Blinking away the daze in my eyes I brushed his hands away, “Yeah, yeah I’m here.” The room came into focus and I realized that Yilmarie and Eros had climbed the stairs to the aviary, “What are you doing here?” 

“We’re busting you out.” Eros declared, “I finished dishes early, and Executioner Alfred caught me before I slipped off to sleep. He told me that you’re shipping out before the sun tomorrow. Kos-A-Fucking-Bove Kohso you weren’t kidding. They really are going to make an Executioner out of you.” 

I grinned with pride and held out the silver wheel for them to see. Yilmarie stared down at the sparkling badge in awe, “I’m sorry I doubted you.” 

“It’s alright.” I said, “But I don’t follow. What is there to bust me out of?” 

“This crap job man.” Eros said, gesturing to the actual bird droppings that littered the aviary. “I don’t know why Sister Veera wants you up here all night, but there’s no way you’re staying. We got to go out and hunt Kohso, it’s our last chance. I drug Yilmarie all the way up here. Do you have any idea how hard that was?” 

I did actually have an idea of how hard it had been, but it didn’t change the fact that I had a post to maintain. “I appreciate it, really I do.” I began “But-“ 

“But nothing.” Eros said, “You’re coming with us and that’s that. If you want to be all technical and stuck up about it you’re not even a fucking church hunter anymore. You’re an Executioner in training, so really you don’t gotta listen to what Veera says.” 

“I guess, but-“ I protested 

“Then it’s settled.” Eros decided, taking me by the hand and pulling me away from the windowsill. “Come on, before the sun comes up.” 

There was no fighting with him. I followed Eros’ lead as we hurried down the stairs. Our soft leather boots hardly made a sound. Yilmarie had a bit more foresight in him and had stopped to grab my primary weapon for me. He passed me the polished handle of my sword, a unique combination of gun and fencing foil, fashioned after Cainhurst weapons of old. I’d trained with it for as long as I could remember. The Logarius Wheel would be a welcome change but I still relished the idea of having a grand finale for the swordsmanship skills I’d been taught. 

When we got to the main floor we stuck to the walls, slinking along in the shadows like alley cats. I had a sudden bout of apprehension, trying to slide past my trusted brothers and sisters felt wrong. I couldn’t shake the desire to call out, to suddenly confess that we’d all left our jobs for a night of slaying. Despite these desires I kept quiet. Having Eros be angry with me would be worse than suffering Veera’s contempt. I didn’t want to leave things with my brothers on a sour note. A good hunt would be the perfect send off. 

Kos must have been looking out for us. We were able to sneak our way out of the church without raising any suspicion. The cool night air welcomed eager young hunters and entreated us to spread out and roam as we pleased. It was an electrifying freedom, the freedom that was pounding through our veins. I let Eros take point, he seemed to have some idea of where to go. 

The streets nearest the church were already littered with black feathers and blood. A flock of infected crows lay slain on the sides of the street. The newly noviced church hunters would come and retrieve the corpses shortly before sunrise. We were on the collection crew for months, stuffing rags into our nostrils to stave off the smell. Still, there was no better way to learn the streets of Yharnam then when you had to drag a thousand corpses down to the creameries. You learned every shortcut or let your back break from the weight. 

We passed the piles of crows and continued down the street. Eros waved us down alleyways, careful to keep out of the few streetlights that still glowed. He was still worried about being spotted by some well-meaning Brother or Sister. We navigated the backstreets for a good half hour before he let his guard down, confident we’d distanced ourselves from any opposition. 

“Don’t you think this is a little too near Old Yharnam?” Yilmarie asked as he dunked his throwing knives in an especially poisonous mixture of his own creation. 

“That’s the idea, Yil.” Eros said jovially, “Kohso won’t be no fucking small-timer anymore. The Executioners don’t go out and count crows, they’ve got bigger fish to fry. We aren’t going to just be skirting around Old Yharnam, we’re going in.” 

As he talked he scanned the walls. It was a hastily constructed thing of logs and raw timber. It kept the beasts out but it wouldn’t be able to stop our brother. He had come prepared and produced a large coil of rope that had been tucked away inside his robes. 

“I don’t think this is such a good idea.” I cautioned watching as he tied a series of knots into the rope. 

“Odeon Almighty, you too?” Eros asked, “Come on, I didn’t peg you for a coward.” 

“There’s a difference between cowardice and caution.” I replied, “None of us have been to Old Yharnam. We don’t know the territory. What are we going to do if we get separated? What If we need to make a quick escape, what’s your plan then?” 

Eros shrugged, “We’ll figure it out. It’s not like we always used to know Yharnam as well as we do now. It never fucking killed us now, did it?” 

“Yeah but this part got closed off for a reason.” Yilmarie argued. 

“Fine.” Eros snapped, “If you two want to stand out here and give me shit then by all means. I won’t force you to go in, but you two aren’t going to keep me out.” 

With that he tossed his rope, landing a loop around one of the logs. He pulled it tight and braced his feet against the rough timber before starting his ascent. He didn’t leave us any time to argue, he was up and over the barrier in a few quick minutes. There was no way I was letting him go it alone, I grabbed the end of the rope and started up after him. 

Eros grinned down at me from the top of the gate. “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about! Kohso! Kohso! Kohso!” he cheered. 

“Shut up!” I snarled back, “Alert everything to our position why don’t you?” 

Eros stifled a chuckle but stopped the chants. 

“This is stupid.” Yilmarie said, but after I’d gained a good distance he started up the rope after me. 

I wasn’t half the climber Eros was and it took me much longer to reach the top. Wood fibers and bits of dirt clung to my white robes. I tried to brush them away while we waited for Yilmarie to make the climb. Once I’d cleaned off as much of the mess as I could I looked over the other side, down into the darkness of Old Yharnam. 

“Can’t see shit eh?” Eros asked, elbowing me excitedly as he surveyed the new surroundings. 

“Don’t suppose you brought any lanterns with you?” I asked. 

Eros shook his head, of course not. 

“I did.” Yilmarie said as he struggled over the fortifications and joined us on the wall. He struck a match against the sole of his shoe. The red-orange glow of flame was the only spot of color for miles. I held the door of the lantern open and Yilmarie laid the match to the wick until the candle caught. He clipped the lantern to his belt and replaced Eros as the head of our party. 

We walked the perimeter of the wall awhile before climbing down the other side and taking our first steps into Forbidden territory. The strange shapes of the Old Yharnam neighborhoods towered over us. They were just old houses and shops, but they were unfamiliar and seemed to be sneering. Yilmarie’s lantern light reflected in the dirty windows. It gave the illusion that there were candles burning in the long abandoned houses. We walked down the streets with our weapons drawn. Yilmarie had a throwing knife in each hand, and several more at his belt. Tiny rivers of the poisonous solution they were coated dripped onto the ground. Eros favored the traditional Saw Cleaver that had been the first weapon he’d ever held. Every brother and sister in Odeon Chapel had tried to steer him towards swordsmanship and the traditional church methods. Despite their efforts, he clung to his old ways and maintained loyalty to his first weapon. 

I had the combination foil in my hands, ready to strike or shoot whatever we crossed paths with. My brothers and I had used these weapons in combination many times. As much as our blades belonged to us individually, they were at the same time not ours at all. We used each other as weapons, knowing ourselves to be at the disposal of the other too, and vice versa. I knew when to step back and let Eros’ cleaver cut down those that opposed us. We could split to the side in a second so that Yilmarie could get a clean shot in. They knew when to give me space and let me dance around an enemy, and I knew when they needed to close the distance and get their hits in. We were practiced and it would be strange to have to start building up new camaraderie and understanding with my future Executioners. Those Logarius Wheels needed their space to swing and I was still yet to learn their range. Cassius hadn’t exactly been an ideal test case for seeing their skills in action. 

We continued down the shadowy streets, on high alert for even the slightest sound. At one point Eros’ head snapped to turn back at us. We all tensed, scanning the darkness over our shoulder for signs of life, ears alert for what might’ve set our brother off. In the end it just had been the toe of Yilmarie’s boot scraping an uneven chunk of cobblestone. It was nothing, but we had taken note of it all the same, that was the precision of a hunter’s ears. 

Despite all the caution we took I was still surprised at the sight of the first beast. It was draped all over with cloth and moved in the lumbering slow steps of someone very elderly. I believed it to even be human at first before I saw its enormous clawed hands. It was the first beast I’d ever seen who had its capacity for speech intact. I couldn’t make out any of the words it said but, the creature muttered things under its breath as it advanced towards us. 

The cloth covering its head must’ve helped us stay concealed for it hadn’t noticed us until we were right on top of it, weapons at the ready. 

Eros drew first blood, a clean slash across the beast’s chest that cut through the fabric and stained the yellowing cloth red with blood. The beast howled and swiped at him. Yilmarie’s poison knife imbedded in the beast’s palm before it had the chance to make contact. I thrust my blade clear threw i’s neck, ending the vile monster’s life. 

We knelt by the expired corpse, watching as the unfamiliar enemy was bled dry. As was tradition we said a prayer for the expired soul. Yilmarie gathered some of the beasts’ blood in a flask, for later examination. His lab did not contain any specimens from Old Yharnam and he was eager to explore the secret properties of this strain of the infection. 

“Not so bad huh?” Eros asked, turning and starting away from the dead creature. 

“Suppose not.” Yilmarie agreed capping his flask and tucking the blood into his robes. “Wasn’t much different from the things we’ve fought before…offense wise anyway.” 

“It was trying to speak.” I said, offering my opinion. 

“Many of the larger beasts do.” Yilmarie agreed, “Though that seemed a bit small to have its wits so intact.” 

“Small or large, speaking or not it’s dead now so what’s the big fucking deal?” Eros asked. 

There was nothing else worth discussing. We’d have to swap theories in the sewers later without our impatient brother hovering over us. We followed him forward, swallowed up by darkness once more but unafraid of it. 

We wound through more abandoned streets and heard not so much as a rustling. We came to a crossing and Eros and I began to advocate for the ways we wanted to go, when Yilmarie stopped dead in his tracks. 

“What’s wrong Yil?” I asked. I want to get a grasp on the situation quickly before we were in over our heads. 

“Eyes. Red. Dead ahead.” Yilmarie said extending a finger to attract our attention down the center path. 

Sparkling in the darkness like two polished rubies were a set of angular red eyes. They seemed to pierce right through my robes, rip open my skin, and look directly at my heart. I tightened the grip on my combination foil and advanced to stand at Yilmarie’s side. As I came forward so too did the set of eyes. They became larger by degrees. When I reached Yilmarie the rate at which the eyes approached us increased dramatically. 

“Shit.” Eros said shaking his Saw Cleaver to extend it to its full size. The blade clicked into place and he took his best fighting stance bracing for the new enemy. 

A Greatwolf, of the kind who frequented Central Yharnam lunged at us from the shadows. It was much larger than the kind we had seen before, and its fur was darker, charred as though burnt. It howled as it crashed onto us, leaping at Eros, full force. 

Eros rolled forward, trying to dodge the creature or at least come up in a good position to strike at its underbelly. He misjudged the size of the wolf and was crushed by its back paw when it landed. 

“Eros!” Yilmarie shouted, flinging daggers into the Greatwolf’s side to draw its attention. 

“Alive.” Eros responded, bearing the weight of the wolf’s paw on the side of his saw cleaver as he tried to push it away. He struggled for each inch as he tried to scramble free. 

I advanced closer to the wolf firing a few quicksilver bullets into its snout. They did little to deter the beast, but were plenty to gain its attention. Ignoring the hunter it had trapped, the Greatwolf charged for me. I had fought larger enemies in smaller spaces, ducking into a roll I easily avoided its charge. When the dust settled I had an opening on the creature’s side and slashed across its emaciated ribcage. 

The wolf howled in pain. 

Its cries were cut short by Eros, who after regaining his strength attacked from the rear. He drove the teeth of his cleaver deep into the beasts back leg, drawing blood and gaining a purchase. The Greatwolf spun around, ready to lunge. It tensed its back legs to spring, but when it took to the air Eros dug his heels in and hauled on the handle of his weapon. Instead of an elegant leap the wolf smashed itself onto the ground, awkwardly crash landing. 

Yilmarie was upon it in seconds, quite literally. He took to the mountain of matted fur and drove a knife handle-deep into the foul thing’s evil eye. The Greatwolf howled in pain, struggling against its three attackers but Yilmarie had struck true and the monster would not rise again. It took longer to expire then the first enemy but with help from Eros’ and my own blades it was soon staining the streets with its blood. I stooped to offer a prayer to Kos. My knees hadn’t so much as brushed the ground when I heard more strange noises. The Greatwolf’s howls had echoed through the narrow streets catching the attention of everything nearby. Red eyes popped up everywhere. 

We lost the luxury of being able to place all of our skills against a single enemy. We backed into each other, each facing a different direction and fighting a different enemy. We were able to defend ourselves on all fronts this way. As the flood of beasts began to draw nearer, I realized Yilmarie was going to be at a severe disadvantage. He had nothing in the way of reach, and his supply of poisoned knives, though ample would not last forever. I vowed to assist him all I could, and make frequent checks at his side so he would not become overburdened. 

They crashed like a wave, such a mess of teeth and claws that I couldn’t distinguish one form from another. I hardly had time to breathe, my foil never stopped, constantly on the attack. My robes were hopelessly stained and heavy with blood. I felt my brother’s shoulders jostling against mine as they took on the weight of beast after beast, constantly adjusting their form and position. My boots started to slip on the ground, gone slick with gore. 

And then our formation broke. More specifically I broke. Another Greatwolf took a leap at me. I held up my foil to block the blow, but I had overestimated my strength. The wolf pushed me down, the slippery mess of dead corpses offered no purchase, there was nothing to brace against and my feet slid out from under me. Its paws pressed my own blade down on me, sharp sides slicing through the pads of its paws and the folds of my robe. It cut through to skin, stinging and sharp. 

The Greatwolf snarled, then opened its mouth wide. A thousand teeth gleamed needle-sharp and yellow as they readied themselves for revenge. My throat would’ve been ripped apart if not for one of Yilmarie’s knives. It flipped through the air end over end, handle smacking the wolf on the nose. The beast blinked its eyes in confusion. The moment of distraction was enough for me to make an escape. I took more damage from the blade but managed to wiggle free, scrambling to slide my legs under the foil and scoot away from the beast. As soon as I had escaped the foul thing’s hold I pulled twin blades from my sleeves and staggered to my feet. 

“We’re leaving.” Yilmarie said decisively. His voice was clear and commanding over the snarls of attacking creature. “Fall back to the wall!” 

Eros didn’t protest, rather he worked to make possible our escape. His cleaver sliced a path for us, narrow but enough. Claws strained to catch our robes or knock away our weapons. We had to move quickly, which wasn’t a problem at first. Adrenalin and the thrill of the hunt was enough to eliminate any hint of exhaustion. We sprinted down the streets, back the way we’d come. 

“Left or right?” Yilmarie shouted over his shoulder as we approached the crossroads. 

Eros pulled the teeth of his cleaver out of the skull of a cloth-covered beast. “Straight! We didn’t take any turns!” 

“There is no straight!” Yilmarie said waving a knife at the space in front of him. 

Sure enough he was right. The road branched off both left and right wards but directly in front of us was nothing but an open courtyard. We hadn’t gone down this path, nothing looked familiar. The sinister buildings were all but laughing at us as the monsters thundered down the path, nearly upon us. Reality set in and I started to realize just how much blood I’d lost. My breathing was heavy and hard to maintain. I felt pain shoot through my sides every time I inhaled too deeply. My robes were red, and it was impossible to know how much of the color came from me. 

“Left then!” Eros decided, taking Yilmarie by the hood and pulling him along. 

“I’ll hold them off..” I panted, realizing my chances of escape were pretty slim. I dug in my heels and wiped my Blades of Mercy clean, preparing them for fresh blood. 

“Like hell you will!” Eros growled. He shoved Yilmarie forward and turned back for me, taking me by the arm and shaking me out of my stance. 

Since I was struggling to keep up with the both of them, Eros kept his hold on me the whole way down the path. I had no idea where it would lead, but it seemed to be winding deeper into the forgotten city. Yilmarie’s knives kept anything from stopping our headlong run. They picked off the beasts who poked their heads out of corners and tried to cut us off from the front. Each got a blade between the eyes. Even if the weapon didn’t reach deep enough, the poison it was coated in was sure to take care of the creatures before they could do any damage. 

“In here!” Eros decided, pulling me into the doorway of one of the few buildings that hadn’t been boarded shut. Yilmarie slammed its large door closed behind us, barricading the entry with whatever was close at hand. We piled pews and candlesticks against the doors. I quickly realized we’d taken shelter in an old church. This one didn’t offer the familiarity and comfort of Odeon Chapel nor the strength and reassurance that the Choir-manned Grand Cathedral promised. This church was all shadows and broken furniture. 

“Still think we can handle things?” Yilmarie snarled at Eros. 

The novice apothecary worked to slide my robe over my head, hoping to get a better look at my wounds. 

“We’re fine.” Eros said, pacing back and forth in front of the barricade. The slipshod barrier shuddered as the monsters outside threw themselves against the door. It wouldn’t hold for long. 

“We are not fine.” Yilmarie said. He tossed the pile of blood-soaked fabric in Eros’ direction. Our brother dodged it easily but the gravity of the situation seemed to set in a little more as he took in the stained bundle. 

“We should just wait for morning to come.” I said, trying to maintain a level head, “Eros take a look around, see if you can find some candles. Let’s have some light in here.” 

Eros nodded before disappearing into the shadows. 

He was only gone for a moment before we heard a gigantic crash echo through the church. The whole building shook. 

“What was that?” Yilmarie whispered, eyes wide with fear. 

I didn’t have time to answer him before an ear-splitting screech tore through the uneasy silence. It was an unearthly thing, and surely couldn’t have come from our brother. 

“What. Was. That?” Yilmarie repeated. 

“Shh.” I hissed. 

Whatever it was it had Eros. Leaving my chest to bleed how it liked I got up from the floor and snatched Yilmarie’s lantern from his belt. Creeping as quietly as I dared, I approached the center aisle of the church. Drawing back my arm and flinging the lantern forward I hurled our only source of light into the black abyss. The lantern swirled through the air before coming to land at the far end of the strange church. It wasn’t much to see by but in the lantern’s glow the source of the screeching was revealed. It was some horribly elongated human, a mockery of the human form. All of the skin had been flayed from its bones, strands of it clinging to the beast’s skeletal form. The sight of the beast wasn’t the worst of it either. 

I had thrown the lantern just in time to watch Eros’ head be crushed in the creatures jaw. 

Shards of skull went flying onto the cobblestone, a sea of blood exploding from our brother’s brain. My knees locked and I felt my stomach flip and fill with bile. My blood boiled. I was disgusted and horrified but unable to move an inch in any direction. I couldn’t even scream. The emaciated creature didn’t share my qualms. It began to devour Eros right before our eyes, confident its next two meals weren’t going anywhere. 

“Eros!” Yilmarie shouted, wailing his despair to our expired brother. His cheeks were slick with tears and he readied his knives for revenge. 

The rail-thin creature turned its head at the sound of Yilmarie’s cries. The unholy demon hadn’t finished devouring Eros but was already hungry for more. I clasped my hand over Yilmarie’s mouth. We couldn’t give this thing anymore advantage then it already had. There wasn’t enough light to communicate with hand signals, so I had to resort to just pulling Yil along behind me. Eros wouldn’t keep the beast occupied much longer and we needed to find a way out of Old Yharnam. 

Keeping one hand on the wall of the church and the other wrapped up in Yilmarie’s robes, I felt my way along the perimeter of the church. Slick stone was occasionally covered by aged tapestries. The fuzzy velvet tickled my fingertips. Every time the fabric rustled or I drew in a breath I was sure it would be the last thing I did. Every movement was too loud and too slow, I was sure the beast could hear us. 

We could certainly hear it. It crunched its way through flesh and bones. The slopping splash of blood hitting the floor echoed through the vaulted ceilings. There would be nothing left of our brother once it was through with him. The starving monster ate him robes and all. 

I was continued down the wall, trying to ignore the growing distress in my stomach. Fingers passed over cobblestone and velvet before brushing across wood. 

Wood and cold metal. 

A door. 

I carefully felt around for the handle, enclosing the metal with my fingers I pressed down. There was a sharp click as the handle depressed, and then the creaking of wood when the door opened. The last thing I saw was the monster’s head snapping towards us as I pulled Yilmarie inside. I slammed the door closed behind us. 

I didn’t suppose that even the well-prepared Yilmarie would’ve taken two lanterns with him. It was darker in the room then it had been in the church. 

“Can you see anything Yil?” I whispered. 

Yilmarie took a match from the pouch on his belt and lit up our surroundings. The tiny red glow was precious little to go by. We had to get our bearings quickly before the matchstick burnt out. 

“Thank Ebrietas.” Yilmarie muttered. He had found the small stump of a used candle. Laying match to wick he illuminated the room. 

The place we were in was tiny, hardly more than a storage closet. Spent candles and waterlogged books lay in heaps on the floor. They’d no doubt been stowed there by some lazy novice from years ago. Some part of me longed to kneel down, sort and stack them; restore order to this old church. 

There were far more pressing matters to attend before any sort of spring cleaning was going to happen. Whatever creature had consumed Eros had set its sights on us. We could hear its claws scrabbling against the door. Yilmarie lit more candles and I piled whatever I could against the door. Even with the small snowdrift of waterlogged books the weathered wood wasn’t going to hold for long. As more and more of the room became visible and I piled more clutter against the door I caught the flickering candle flames reflecting in glass. There was a window. There was a way out. 

I redoubled my efforts, prying away piles of ancient moth-eaten robes. Cobwebs clung to my skin and my chest was sticky with blood, but I ignored them and soon had a path cleared. I used the handle of my knife to smash through the glass panes. It was a small window, but it seemed like it might be just big enough for us to get through. 

The beast outside had nearly come inside. The wooden door was buckling as the skeletal body threw itself into the splintering surface again and again. 

“Yilmarie enough with the candles!” I shouted. He hadn’t stopped lighting them since we entered the room. He jumped and turned towards me. “Out the window, come on now!” 

The novice apothecary scrambled over to the window, shaking off his robe and laying it across the windowsill to protect himself from broken glass. I interlocked my fingers and let him brace his foot on my palms before gripping the window frame. The gap we had to get through was so narrow. I was certain Yilmarie’s shoulders would get stuck and we’d be in a worse position then we’d started. I was about to try talking him down, get another plan together. Before I could find the right phrasing Yilmarie had his head and shoulders through the window. The rest of him awkwardly tumbled along behind. He landed in a heap outside. 

“I’m fine.” Yilmarie said, answering me before I could ask. He brushed dirt from his robes and turned to watch me from below. 

“Get out of here.” I hissed at him as I struggled to pull myself up to the window. 

“I’m not leaving you.” Yilmarie said. My companion scanned the area as I worked to make my escape. He went about poking his knives into bushes, making sure nothing would sneak up on us. Apparently none of the beasts who’d chased us inside had the wits to check the perimeter. Yilmarie’s searched revealed no results. My safety below was guaranteed, if I could just escape via the window. 

Yilmarie was a lot smaller then I. I boasted broader shoulders and a lot more muscle. In the past these had always served me well, but he had the advantage when it came to sneaking though small spaces. He could shimmy through hidden tunnels in the sewers that Eros and I never would’ve dreamed of getting through. The window hadn’t held him up for long but it was giving me a good bit of trouble. 

“My shoulders are too wide, Yil.” I said, panting as I twisted this way and that trying to wiggle my way through. 

“I’m not leaving.” Yilmarie repeated, “So you better get your big head through that window right now.” 

“My heads not the problem.” I muttered, grimacing as the window frame pressed against my skin, painfully tight. I waved my foot around, looking for something to stand on, some kind of leverage that might help me force my way through. I’d cleared it all away, there was nothing to get a purchase on. 

The door was in shambles. I couldn’t glance back and be sure of it but the sounds of wood cracking came more frequently. Then there was a noise like an explosion. The emaciated creature let out a shriek of triumph before hurtling through the wreckage. It launched itself at me, a pile of twisted limbs and torn skin. 

The impact from the beast caused the entire window frame to pop out of its’ mooring, ancient wood and mortar which hadn’t been built to take the strain of a beasts’ assault gave way. I tumbled to the ground, face first. The beast went down along with me. 

Yilmarie was ready for it. Before either me or the creature had a chance to get our bearings he was hurling knives into the gangly monster. The beast howled and backed away. 

I had enough room to wrench my shoulders out of the window frame. My head spun, and I tried to get a grip on my surroundings. Everything was swirling together. The beasts earsplitting shrieks made my head shake. 

“I can’t see.” I muttered. 

“Kohso! Get out of there!” Yilmarie shouted. 

“I can’t see.” I said again. For some reason I couldn’t seem to speak loud enough for him to hear me. 

If Yilmarie was going to have said something, I missed the chance to hear it. Everything went flashy and orange. A thousand tiny explosions filled my ears like cannon fire. A relentless barrage of sound and sparks reigned down from above. I could not make out its source. The heavy artillery focused its energy on the shrieking creature, but the bullets that peppered the ground made its screams all but impossible to hear. 

The beast couldn’t be counted smart by any measure, but it knew when it was beat. It did not relentlessly pursue a meal it wouldn’t get. In a hazy fog of swirling shapes I saw it retreat, scampering around the back corner of the church, never to be seen again. It was swallowed by the darkness in Old Yharnam. 

“Just what are you two doing?” A voice I’d never heard before shouted. It echoed down the alleyway, bouncing from side to side. 

I looked up, trying to see the speaker, but in a blink the world went black. 

Things stayed black. Everything seemed heavy, like I was lying in a lake of syrup. None of my limbs wanted to move. I couldn’t decide if my eyes were open or closed, and it didn’t matter either way. There wasn’t anything to hear. My mouth tasted stale, a mix of tangy copper, old food and sour milk. It was hot and dry. The room I couldn’t see felt like it was spinning. 

Then the sounds faded in. They were soft at first, and infrequent. When they began I couldn’t even be sure weather I’d heard them or if they were leftover scraps from some dream. 

A dream. 

I prayed to the Formless Odeon. If this could all just be a dream I would deny my acceptance to the Executioners and take a vow of silence. I would spend the rest of my days clearing the corpses from Central Yharnam and washing the streets of blood if only Eros’ death could be part of some twisted nightmare. 

The more I prayed the louder the noises got. It took me a lot longer then I cared to admit but I was finally able to distinguish them as footsteps. Softer, but growing louder as they neared. There were voices too. They were all mumbling. I wanted to shout for them to speak up so I could hear but my body didn’t want to cooperate with my brain. My mouth wouldn’t open. 

“..the younger one?” 

“Yilmarie.” 

“Yes, he’s given his account. Durja confirmed what he could.” 

Words began to fill my ears. I held the words the same way I’d held the badge from the night before, twisting it one way and then another. Shifting them, smudging their surface with fingerprints and trying to make sense of them. 

There was a click and the door opened. 

Everything turned yellow. 

More and more of the confusing fog cleared up. My eyes weren’t closed, they were open but something was obscuring them. They were covered over with something, my whole face was covered over. I gathered my thoughts together again, focusing everything into making some sort of sound. My lips lacked the interest to communicate, they stayed still. They wouldn’t even allow me to vent my frustration. 

More footsteps, growing louder and louder and then altogether too loud. Something brushed against my temple. The next moment everything was flashing, too bright for me to comprehend. I thought I had died and was about to have audience with one of the Ancient Ones. 

I wasn’t dead in the slightest. 

Someone had merely taken the fabric from my face and my eyes were scrambling to adjust to the light of the room. Above me loomed a great face, two enormous hazel eyes and a mess of grey hair. Despite the aged association with the color, the face did not have a hint of wrinkle or a sign of seniority to be found. I was sure I’d never seen this person before. 

Or perhaps I had and everything was still dizzy and confusing. I blinked. 

“He’s conscious.” The face above me announced. “Conscious and awake.” 

The unfamiliar visage disappeared and was replaced with one I knew. I could be sure that I had regained my sight once it came into view. I recognized Vicar Lanthem’s face in an instant. 

“Kohso, my young novice, can you hear us?” Lanthem asked. His voice was soft and even but still full of authority. He talked in the same tone he preached in, as though this conversation were another sermon. It made me think of the smell of incense and polished wooden pews, familiar from a thousand church services. 

I strained every muscle to speak. I was practically sweating from the strain but I managed to crack my lips open. A pained wheeze was the first sound I made. My throat felt like someone had poured sand down it. It was unbelievably dry and scratchy. 

They seemed to be able to tell that I was trying. Vicar Lanthem’s face softened as he looked over me. 

“Fetch some water, won’t you Callum?” He asked, “I think our dear Brother is thirsty.” 

“Yes Sir.” Came the reply. 

More footsteps and then there was glass like ice against my lips. The sandy feeling in my throat was washed away. I could breathe again. 

“Thank you, Father Vicar.” I said, relieved I was able to speak. The more my eyes adjusted themselves to the light, I realized I had my sight as well. My senses were coming back to me. Before long I hoped my limbs would listen to me too. 

“You’re most welcome.” Vicar Lanthem replied. “Now this is important Kohso, I need you to give me as much information as you can, alright?” 

He was going to ask about last night. I could feel it. My stomach did another flip, churning up whatever was left from my last meal. I didn’t want to talk about this, but I couldn’t disobey a request from the head of our church. 

"Yes Father Vicar.” I agreed. 

“Good, good.” He encouraged. 

Callum gave me another sip of water. I tried to sit up, hoping to be a bit more dignified. 

“Easy.” The medic cautioned. “You probably have a concussion. Take it slow. Stay down.” 

“That’ll be all, thank you Callum.” Vicar Lanthem said, dismissing him quickly. “Brother Kohso and I have much to discuss.” 

“Of course Sir.” Callum said. 

Once the medic had left Lanthem helped me to sit, propping up my back with additional pillows. I was grateful. Now this would be a discussion with another human as opposed to staring up at the face of a god. I looked down and noticed my chest was wrapped with bandages. 

“Now then.” Vicar Lanthem said, “Can you remember what happened last night?” 

“Yes Father Vicar.” I said. I began to tell him about Alfred and our discussion in the tower. Mid way through I realized that the Executioners were sure to have left by now. I’d lost my chance along with one of my brothers. I reached for the Executioner’s badge around my neck, only to find it missing. 

“Worry not.” Vicar Lanthem reassured me, “You were covered overmuch in blood. You’ll have your things back, we merely needed to clean them.” 

“Have they left then, the Executioners?” I asked. 

“I’m afraid so.” Vicar Lanthem sighed. 

Eros would’ve been cursing his brains out had he been in my position. I sighed and counted it as part of my penance. The gods would not smile upon me after the way I’d fought last night. I had been the one who broke formation, the weakest link. Weakness was not a quality the hunt tolerated. I deserved this. I had to be content with small victories. At least I now had the strength to move my arms, that was something. 

I continued my tale. 

“So you did leave your post then?” the Vicar asked me. 

“Yes Father Vicar.” I said. “Kos forgive me.” 

Vicar Lanthem made no further interruptions. I gave him the full account, trying not to let my emotions sway my words. He listened with rapt attention, even as I choked up when speaking about Eros. I knew a lot of our journey had been at his encouragement, but laying blame on a dead man felt wrong. I wanted to say that the whole thing had been my idea, but it wasn’t the truth and I wasn’t going to risk disappointing the Old Gods again. 

“He was impulsive and overhasty.” Vicar Lanthem said of Eros when I’d completed my report, “But when you and Brother Yilmarie took up arms with him you were able to better channel that enthusiasm. You can’t blame yourself for what happened, at least not completely, that is the way that I see it. However, there are some things we can’t ignore.” 

“Father Vicar?” I asked, imploring him to continue. 

“While you had left an urgent message was sent by the Choir. They sent it by dove, and we didn’t know of it until you were carried home by Durja. There was a cleric beast on the rampage, and they require back up. Without their alert being brought to us we were unable to assist them. The Choir is not as forgiving as I am, Brother Kohso. They would have you stand trial.” 

My whole world collapsed. 

There was one time, when I was much younger that I’d attended a hunter’s trial. It was one of the outings Executioner Alfred has taken me on. I remember walking up the stairs of the Grand Cathedral. They were packed with Hunters of Hunters, two on each step, standing with their bloodletting weapons, and guarding the entrance to the church. They had scared me half to death. Inside the church was just as intimidating, full to brimming with Choir members. I was terrified and I had done nothing wrong. To be on the receiving end of their interrogation was more terrifying then any beast. 

My eyes had gone wide with fear, and this did not escape Lanthem’s notice. 

“I am trying to negotiate with them.” Vicar Lanthem said, “But it is not an easy task. They will not be able to judge you as anything more than a novice, which will give you a significant advantage. Mistakes can be forgiven, though the Choir is not known for their mercy.” 

“T-thank you Father Vicar.” I stammered. 

“I shall do what I can for you, Brother Kohso.” The head Vicar assured me. I knew that he would. “For now, just rest. See if you can sleep, see if you can dream. The Gods have a plan for you my young novice, they would not end your days here. Do not despair. I will return to you later.” 

“Yes Father Vicar.” I said. 

He helped me to lay back down and I lost myself to sleep in moments. In my dreams I saw the eyeless masks of the Choir staring down at me. I was screaming and they were laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	2. The Gaurdian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is given from Yilmarie's point of view. We will be switching between him and Kohso for the remainder of the story.
> 
> Please let me know if you like it or if you want more.

“How is he?” 

I’d been waiting for the medic to come down the stairs for hours. I had lost track of time. In the back cloisters of the church there were no windows for light to come through. Hunters were used to going about in the moonlight, and I enjoyed the dark more than most, but I didn’t enjoy this. The way time blurred together, I didn’t know whether a minute or an hour had gone by. It could’ve been a day and I wouldn’t have known. 

The sun rose when the grey haired medic came down the stairs and I was able to ask my question. 

“He’s got a concussion.” Came the reply. “His face is a bit bruised and his chest needed some bandaging.” 

“He’s going to live then?” I asked. 

“They wouldn’t have sent a novice medic if death was a concern.” He said, “Your friend is nowhere near death.” 

They hadn’t even bothered to get Kohso a real medic. Eros was dead, you think the church would’ve had enough in their coffers to make sure my remaining brother got the best care possible. Vicar Lanthem and Sister Veera along with several Choir Members had come up and down the stairs to Kohso’s room several times. I’d tried to get them to stop and talk to me, but I was unable to get their attention. 

“Thank you.” I said, bowing in the traditional way of a church hunter. 

The medic dipped his head in a respectful nod, but didn’t bother with anything more. He seemed to have other things on his mind. Not interested in conversation he went deeper down the hallways leaving me to the lonely cloister once more. 

Vicar Lanthem came down the stairs after an immeasurable amount of time. He saw me waiting on the bottom step and sat beside me. He didn’t stay anything we just stayed in mutual silence. Kohso would’ve found this comforting, but for me it was the exact opposite. I wanted the pious leader of our church to be far far away so I could summit the staircase and pay my brother a visit. I needed to see him breathing with my own eyes. 

Sitting in silence drove me to picking my nails. I peeled the tips of portion by portion until my robe was full of yellow-white slivers. If I didn’t have my boots on I would’ve started in on my toes, but there hadn’t been time to change after we got back. 

Finally I decided to break the silence. 

“Can I see him?” I asked 

“He’s resting, Yilmarie.” Vicar Lanthem replied. 

He hadn’t demined me in explicit terms but the result was the same. I would not be allowed an audience. 

Vicar Lanthem sat there awhile and when he rose, I rose along with him. He place a hand on my shoulder. As I stood shreds of my fingernails fell softly to the floor. They didn’t make a sound, and I wasn’t sure if the Vicar had seen them. Usually I would dispose of them at a more proper location but it had been a difficult series of hours and I wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to tidy up. 

Keeping his hand on me we continued down the hall. Lanthem led us back to the sanctuary, closing the doors we went through behind him. It felt like he was sealing Kohso away. 

The doors couldn’t have kept me out even if he had locked them. I knew secret paths through all of Yharnam, this church included. There wasn’t a room they’d built I couldn’t find my way into. 

The sanctuary was full of people. Light was streaming in through the windows. It was daytime. The reason for so many hunters to gather during the day couldn’t have been a good one. I caught sight of the double pointed masks worn by Choir hunters. They cemented the seriousness of the situation. Last night had had a greater impact and a farther reach then I’d expected. 

“Who are all these people?” I asked Lanthem. 

“They’ve come to pray. There here for a church service, just like anyone else.” He informed me. 

I didn’t believe him. 

“What are they praying for?” I asked, hoping to glean more information. 

My voice was lost in the crowd. I no longer had the Vicar’s attention. He had only wanted to steer me away from Kohso’s room. Now that the task was complete he had no need of my company. My question would go forever unanswered. 

I clung to the sides of the room, hovering around the walls and catching snatches of conversation. There were so many people in the room that by the time my eavesdropping was noticed I’d already learned a great deal of information. I had long since ceased to be a child, who was unable to hear whispered secrets. I could read lips and not all of the church hunters were as subtle as they liked to think themselves. 

They wanted to put my brother on trial. It was bad enough that Eros’ refusal to pay heed to warnings caused his death, but now they wanted to put more blood on the scales. Kohso would not endure a trial unscathed, the Choir always got their verdict. There was no telling what they might do to him, and all over a petty squabble. An unmanned aviary was hardly abnormal, there was hardly ever a hunter posted there. If anyone should be questioned my suspicions lay with Sister Veera. 

If only they had just done as they were told. It wasn’t really so hard. Half the churches methods seemed arcane and backwards to me, but you had to follow orders. I didn’t gain much from endless church services when my time could be better served drying herbs or memorizing formulas, but the elders wanted us to hear them read the Anointed Texts. So I went to church and listened to them read. If Eros could’ve just done the same and learned to respect a chain of command he would be here to disperse the tension. 

When they asked me, I told them I really hadn’t wanted to go out hunting. If I had known Eros planned to take us to Old Yharnam I definitely wouldn’t have gone at all. Everything in the stars, the cards, even the tea leaves had cautioned me to wait at home but I ignored every sign. Perhaps Kohso was right and the things we considered fates or superstitions were really just concealed messages sent by the Ancient Ones. If only I had listened to them. They were the ultimate in the chain of command, so I could’ve been counted at fault as well. Another disobeyed order that in hindsight should’ve been taken far more seriously. 

On the other hand even if I had paid attention to everything and stayed home that would not have cemented Eros’ safety. He would’ve gone to Kohso anyway and there was a chance the to-be-Executioner would have said yes. 

“Everything alright?” 

Blinking my thoughts away I looked up to meet Durja, the hunter who’s quick thinking and heavy artillery had saved my life. He wore a traditional city hunter’s outfit, the brim of his hat pulled so far forward and down that all you could really see of him was his smile. It was toothy and sharp, almost canine, but it had a charm too it. 

“You seem a little lost.” He commented. 

I gave a weak chuckle, using Eros’ strategy of relieving awkward situation with sporadic humor. It always worked for him and I did my best to reply with a joke. “I know these halls well, I just have a lot on my mind.” 

Instead of laughing in mild amusement the hunter nodded knowingly, “The death of a friend is not an easy burden to bear.” 

I would’ve been ashamed to admit that I’d spent precious little time lingering on Eros’ death. It still didn’t feel real to me, though I’d seen it with my own eyes. I couldn’t explain my confusion, but there was some part of me that half expected my boisterous brother to pop out from behind the corner and try to pull pranks on the solemn Choir hunters. 

I had no idea what the appropriate response to Durja’s statement was. Eros and Kohso were typically there to guide me through these sorts of interactions. Without them, as Durja aptly observed, I was a bit lost. I needed to slip away from the Sanctuary before becoming trapped in more conversations. They would only make this day worse. 

Durja wasn’t done with me yet. He continued to try and console me, providing advice and encouragement. It was very thoughtful of him, to be sure, but I just wasn’t interested. As he talked I scanned the room, seeking a convenient excuse to leave. When none came immediately to mind I complained of tiredness and false headaches and excused myself to go lie down. 

How anyone could sleep with so many strange people in their church was beyond me. I noticed Vicar Lanthem lingering close to the door we’d come through, talking with nearby Choir members. He glanced behind him every so often. 

He must’ve been standing there to prevent my passage. 

Or I was becoming paranoid. Either way I did my best to leave the room without the Head Vicar’s knowledge. I had some investigations of my own to perform, and it wouldn’t due to have sentries on my tail. I had always had the distinct impression that the Vicar didn’t trust me. 

He seemed to have a general distaste for those brought in from the Hemwick Provinces. There were rumors of black sorcery and witchcraft being common in those areas. I had never seen a witch myself, but I suppose the predisposition for an apothecary wasn’t too far off from the talent for witchcraft. I had never felt the need to curse or charm anyone. I’d never tried to cast a spell or sacrifice an animal. 

Despite evidence, Lanthem seemed to suspect that bad blood ran through my veins. Some days I found myself believing him. When I was down in my room with only light from a bubbling cauldron to illuminate the room, there was an undeniable darkness to what I was doing. Sometimes the shadows seemed to whisper. 

This was partially the reason I had hung around with Eros and Kohso. Eros’ brain was always too stuck in the here and now to care about anyone’s past or future. He judged you for who you were that day, and nothing else. It was refreshing. Kohso on the other hand was as pure as the fresh fallen snow, devoted to the church in all causes. He was no doubt adored by the Old Gods and Vicar Lanthem doted on him. When I was around Kohso the judgmental looks from the other church hunters seemed to lessen. 

He had that innocent look to him, especially in his pristine white robes. Soft eyes and unassuming brown hair, as average as they come. Kohso was the type who had an inherent humility dappled generously throughout their forms. He was never suspected of wrong doing. 

The blame usually fell to me. I had darker skin and wilder hair. Wrestling the rats nest into a contained bun was a new trial every day. I looked as though I had come out of Hemwick. No matter how hard I tried to tame my appearance, keep my hood up or just all and all avoid being the center of attention, I couldn’t shake the wildness. It crept along like a shadow. Every now and again I had the impulse to do something strange, like smash a vase or burn some of the copies of the Anointed Texts. They were unexplainable desires, and I’d shake them away as quickly as possible, chalking it up to the bad blood Vicar Lanthem suspected me of having. 

He could’ve been correct. Much like Kohso, I had never had the opportunity to meet my parents. My mother could’ve been a witch dabbling in the dark arts for all I was aware. She could’ve also been a pious woman who went to church at every opportunity and donated all of her spare change to beggars. There was no way of knowing. 

What I did know is that suspicion made people act irrationally, and that suspicion was now directed at my closest friend. Kohso did all he could to protect me, both that night and many before. It was time for me to return the favor. 

Disguising myself with a group of younger church novices who were cutting through the Sanctuary, late comers from the corpse collection crew, I was able to slip out unnoticed. While the crowd of novices turned for the stairs to the church’s sleeping barracks I went the opposite direction. Vicar Lanthem had his own quarters, set apart from everyone else. 

To me this was both pretentious and sensible. The Head Vicar kept very different hours then the majority of his congregation. Traipsing through the sleeping quarters at all hours might cause disturbance. At the same time I had seen the Vicar’s quarters and they were opulent beyond opulent. Most of his church hunters were given small rooms with modest furniture. The Vicar had a four posted bed and a room with a private parlor and bathing chamber. Again I had to keep in mind that it wasn’t Vicar Lanthem who had built the church, but for one who preached humility it did seem rather contradictory. 

I wanted to see the Choir’s note for myself. I had a hard time believing that one cleric beast was too much for them to handle. Eros and I had been surprised by one when we were much younger and had been able to fell the creature. Any Choir member should’ve been able to take down a beast like that without so much as a spot of blood on their robes. 

I slunk up the stairs to the Vicar’s private quarters. The stairs were lined with statues carved in the likeness of Amygdala. The shadows cast by her rather oversized head were more than enough to make my moves in, and there were no posted sentries. Vicar Lanthem liked the church to be warm and inviting, it didn’t do to have guards. He was under the impression that a locked door would keep any unwanted intruders out. Eros had his ways with hair pins or small pieces of wire, but I had discovered a forgotten ring of keys while combing the sewers for rat’s claws. Upon further investigation I discovered it was a near complete master set. There were a few doors on the newer additions to the church that it would not open, but by and large it allowed me complete access. I never left my room without the keys. 

Having gone unnoticed to all but the stone eyes of Amygdala, I made it to the first of many doors. The key clicked in the lock and I began to make my way through the Vicar’s private halls. The hallway was bordered by stone pedestals, each one containing some relic of past hunts. There were some bowls, caked with dried blood that was supposed to have come from the tombs of the old gods. Another had the rotting hands of some old immortal, a Vileblood most likely. They’d twitch if you stared at them too hard. Hunters badges were common too, each one labeled in accordance with its wearer. I worried about how soon new badges might join the collection. I turned away from them before they consumed my thoughts and continued down the hall. It was best not to dwell on those long departed, not when fresh grief so polluted the air. I started to see Eros in all the things we passed. There was a wooden section of crucifix that brought to mind the handle of his rugged saw cleaver. There were eyes floating in jars capped with silver wax that were just a shade darker then my brothers had been. I stopped scanning the sides and focused my attention to the door at the end of the hall. 

Velvet carpet seemed to stretch for miles. I knew the fabric was easily swayed and would preserve my footsteps after I was gone. Any attempt to brush the malleable cloth back to its original orientation would worsen the situation, making a cover up look all the more dubious. I would leave my footprints as they were. Everyone of the cloth wore the same uniform, it would be impossible to discern the intruder by that alone. I would be accused all the same, Lanthem always had his suspicions. 

Inevitable interrogation aside I flipped through the keys seeking the one that would open the next door. The jangling of metal had filled my ears dulling them to the soft whispers of footsteps as I was approached from behind. 

“What are you doing here, Brother?” 

The voice made me jump out of my skin. I turned around, nearly knocking over some priceless antiquity that I was inches from colliding with. My eyes were turned up, expecting the imposing height of a senior brother or sister, or perhaps a Vicar if I was exceptionally unfortunate. My eyes merely grazed the top of a head, and in relief I turned them down. It was only another novice, like myself. 

“I could ask the same of you.” I said, hoping the boy hadn’t noted my initial surprised expression. 

He had. 

As he continued speaking I realized I recognized him. He was another of Vicar Lanthem’s favored sons, though he showed a stronger desire to let blood then Kohso. This was Minimus Pontmercy, just one year my junior. As soon as he hit eighteen he was going to be an apprentice choir hunter, the youngest in history. He had aspirations of becoming a Hunter of Hunters, a job which was far more dangerous than the position of Executioner. Hunters of Hunters often worked alone and had more difficult prey then Vilebloods to bring down. 

Still I was not afraid of him. The novice had a variety of shortcomings which were not unknown to me and I could easily exploit them if it came too it. 

He did not answer my question, but merely dropped his hands to his lap and bowed. I hesitated a few moments before returning the gesture, unsure of its intended message. Minimus did nothing without reason, and showing respect to a Hemwick Foundling seemed out of his character. 

“Has Vicar Lanthem sent you to fetch something?” Brother Minimus asked. 

“In a way.” I answered, which was not entirely untrue. 

“I heard about your friend.” Minimus said, “Most unfortunate thing really. My deepest sympathies.” 

“Thank you.” I said. It was an automated response. I’d been receiving sympathies all day and all night. I was sick of them. Kohso had better wake up soon to take his fair share of the obligatory conversations. 

“I do hope your other friend recovers quickly. What was his name again, Korrin or something?” 

“Kohso.” I corrected, “You know it’s Kohso, he’s been in lessons with you and been your primary competition in fencing for these past eleven years.” 

“I’m terrible with names.” Minimus said, “Though I will remember yours, Yilmarie. I’m sure Vicar Lanthem is eager to know who’s been skulking about his private study.” 

“Likewise.” I said, keeping my face from betraying my emotions. 

“Well in any case, go on and finish your task. I am sure Father Vicar is eager to have whatever he sent you to collect.” 

Having no immediate way to dismiss the novice’s prying eyes, I turned from him and continued my task. Even if Brother Minimus were to run and tell Lanthem what he’d seen this very instant I’d be able to disappear before he could ever prove it. It was not as though there was much time for delay either, Kohso needed my help. Additionally I was impatient to discover the contents of the mysterious letters. Call it the curse of anyone involved in the sciences, but I just couldn’t stand to leave an investigation halfway through. Curiosity was a vile and rude thing, but all the same I was inflicted with it. 

Curiosity for which salvation lay on the other side of this door. I found the appropriate key and gave it a turn, removing the obstacle in front of me. 

I head a small gasp of surprise from behind me, and allowed myself a private grin. From the reaction I gathered that Brother Minimus had never been inside Vicar Lanthem’s chambers. They had scared the wits out of me the first time too. 

Hanging from the ceiling and looking right out through the door was an articulated and stuffed replication of one of the Old Gods. A hundred glass eyes, with mirrors delicately positioned behind them, gave the illusion of life and depth to the strange sculpture. I carried on through the chamber unimpressed, passing underneath the false gods many limbs. Minimus followed after me, though more hesitant, fearing there was life somewhere in the strange creature. He was worried it might choose to strike him down for roaming where he should not have dared. 

I continued through the room with purpose, ignoring the white leather couches that dominated the parlor. There was a table in the middle of the couches which was piled with books and paper, but it was unlikely Lanthem would’ve tossed the letter there. He had a desk for important matters. No doubt his coffee table was covered with prayer requests or well wishes that he would never read. If it could double as a coaster it would be thrown wherever was convenient but the important stuff went to his private study. 

Branching off to the left and right were his sleeping quarters and study respectively. I left his four poster and the things he did in it to himself and ventured off towards the study. This also had a locked door, but there was yet another key on the infinitely useful ring that unlocked it and gave me passage. His study was an impressive one, the kind of thing that I would one day like to work in. Vicar Lanthem had commissioned some artist or cartographer to paint the walls with maps. There was one that detailed Yharnam, but the other walls were covered in lands I didn’t recognize. One of the walls was dominated by a large dark wood bookshelf, leather-bound volumes neatly alphabetized and awaiting use. I was certain their contents would be interesting but there wasn’t time to shelf read. 

I made my way to the alcove in which his desk was situated. This was where Eros’ skills would’ve come in handy. Many of the drawers were locked, shut tight and off limits. Vicar Lanthem was sure to keep that ring of keys on his person, but there was more than one way to get in where you weren’t wanted. 

I scanned the top of the desk first, hoping perhaps that the Vicar had been overhasty and left what I was seeking on top of his desk. It was wishful thinking and did what wishful thinking so often does; prove useless. The desk was neat as could be, feathery quills fluffed and inkwells capped. There wasn’t a scrap of paper out of place. 

Perhaps I envied his study because he had the room to organize. I hardly had room to work, let alone store things correctly. With a room like this I could let coldblood flowers grow in the window and properly ventilate fumes when it came time to boil blood. Vicar Lanthem hardly seemed to spend any time here. Such a waste. 

Disappointed with the organized desktop I began to start on the drawers. It was a simple enough task. Nails held together most of the desks’ components and could easily be unscrewed. One only had to look at things a little differently and all accesses could be gained. 

It was a more time consuming method then keys. I feared that Brother Minimus would tire of the sights in Lanthem’s study before long and rush off to go share what he had seen. I needed to work fast, and with a near imperceptible hand. Removing nails with tools from my belt and carefully shimmying the necessary pieces away from their frames I lay the contents of Vicar Lanthem’s desk out before me. There were four drawers. The topmost one held only supplies; paper, wax seals the sort of thing that could be found in any desk. They were useless to me. 

The next drawer was filled with blood vials, seemed the Vicar kept his own stash. They were labeled and numbered, so although my curiosity was piqued I did not disturb them. If they were arranged in a specific order there was perhaps some need beyond organization for keeping them that way. The third drawer was the only unorganized one of the lot, piled with letters. Somewhere in the avalanche of envelopes I was sure to find what I was seeking. I put the drawers back in, save the one I needed and began to rifle through the pile. 

“Yilmarie?” 

It was Minimus’ voice in the distance. I ignored it. 

Hardly any of the envelopes had a return label, but nearly all boasted a broken wax seal. The musical note and crossed swords that marked the Choir was on many, always stamped into delicate lavender wax. I pulled each letter with even so much as a smudge of the light purple wax and put them into a pile. 

“Yilmarie, where are you?” 

“It’s not alive.” I shouted back towards Minimus, “It’s just a statue, it won’t hurt you.” 

Minimus stomped towards me. “I know that.” 

I couldn’t let him see me pillaging through Lanthem’s papers. I hastily stuffed envelopes into the oversized sleeves of my church robes. It was far from an ideal hiding place but the novice’s feet came ever closer. 

“I just think it’s high time we left. If you can’t find whatever you were sent to fetch you’ll just have to reveal your failed efforts to our Father Vicar.” Minimus instructed, as though he had the authority to boss me around. 

Just as he was crossing the threshold I tapped the last nail back into place. He entered the room and I stood up from behind the desk, waving an arbitrarily chosen envelope in front of his face. 

“Got it.” I informed. 

“Good, let’s be off then. This place wasn’t meant for us.” Minimus said, starting for the exit. 

“You don’t plan on being Head Vicar one day?” I asked, eager to keep the novice distracted. I’d found that many of my brothers would abandon their suspicions if they were only provided an eager listener and the opportunity to talk about themselves. Minimus Pontmercy was as arrogant as they come. I doubted he would let this chance pass him by. 

“No.” Minimus said with a sly grin, “I plan to go far higher than that.” 

“Leading the Choir then?” I hypothesized as we traversed beneath the limbs of the false god. “A High Octave?” 

“Nor that either.” Minimus replied, shaking his head and laughing as though I’d answered a simple question wrong in school. As though this were information I should already be aware of instead of some private personal desire. 

We made our way through the door. I closed it behind me, ensuring I would be the last to leave. I locked it and then started down the hallway. Brother Minimus followed at my heels, waiting for me to make my next guess. I was tiring of his game, but threw the title of Executioner into the ring. I knew it was wrong and as expected Minimus laughed at me. 

It was so easy to get him thinking he was the smart one. 

All down the hall I made guesses so unreasonably wrong it was a wonder he didn’t suspect I was playing him. I wasn’t sure how the young novice had entered, but I left the way I came, sticking to the shadows of the Amygdala statues. Brother Minimus continued to follow me, though his incessant chatter would’ve blown our cover if anyone had been searching for us. 

“I’d best be off.” I said when we reached the bottom of the flight of stairs. I had cut the novice off in the middle of a rather lengthy speech and he fixed me with an irritated glare. I waved the envelope at him, reminding Minimus of my imaginary task, “Got work to do.” 

He folded his hands and bowed, and I hastily dipped my head back at him before dashing down the hall. I was eager to be alone, and ready to pour over the letters. I had found more then I dared hope, seven of them in total. They were all but burning up my sleeves, I was desperate to read them. 

Once I was sure that I had not been followed I slipped down a ladder and traversed the basement. I wouldn’t be hard to find, I had no desire to hunker down midway through the sewer and hole up in a hiding spot. I’d never be able to give the letters proper attention if I was forced to read them in dim low lights and constantly looking up to check for rats. This was something that needed to be carefully combed over, every detail examined. 

It was especially crucial when considering I only had half a narrative. There would be no way of knowing what Lanthem’s responses to these letters might have been. I could only hazard guesses. Returning to my room felt like taking an eighty pound pack off my shoulders. A potion had boiled over and hardened in the far corner, simmering for hours and hours on a flame I’d neglected to burnt out. It had spent its source and burnt no longer but the smell was slightly off putting. I rolled scraps of cloth and wedged them in my nostrils rather than clean up the mess. It would just have to wait until later. 

Clearing space by flinging sheets and mountains of crumbs off my bed I lined the letters up on the bare mattress. I opened each one and scanned the top of each page for a date or heading, some way to put them in order. Whomever Vicar Lanthem corresponded with was not going to make things easy for me. There were no dates or postmarks. Sorting this out was going to be slightly more difficult than anticipated. 

Since there was no logical way to discern which would be best to begin with I selected one at random. I began to read it eagerly, but soon realized it wasn’t worth the attention. It was merely a response to a request for additional weapons. The Choir had consented and we’d received some Flamesprayers a few days ago. The letter must’ve been recent but hardly what I was searching for. Why Vicar Lanthem had set aside this piece of correspondence was also perplexing, but a mystery for later unraveling. I could not do everything at once. 

The next two letters I opened were of a similar nature. They were confirmations of requests. If Vicar Lanthem’s drawer was just full of acceptance letters then I was just wasting my time. I would not, however, loose heart until the last word on the last page was read. 

The fourth letter did prove interesting. 

Regards Vicar Lanthem, 

I write to inform you that the day we’ve been awaiting is nearly at hand. We trust you have made your selection well and will be able to produce the desired result when the time comes. We cannot afford to delay much longer. As requested we are working to smooth things over with the Executioners and secure passage beyond. 

Please do not keep us waiting 

It was signed “The High Octave”. This was the commanding officer of the Choir, and though I should’ve been able to recall the name of the title’s current bearer I could not. I would consult with Kohso later on, he was sure to know. 

The mention of Executioners made me wonder if this could have had anything to do with Alfred. I set the letter aside for further study. The remaining three would distract me too much for it to be annotated at the moment. 

After the fourth letter I was sure that the next would be just as enlightening. 

Salutations Head Vicar Lanthem 

We write to inform you that there are things stirring across the sea. What was once thought lost could be reclaimed. We beseech you to lend your aid. Choir Scholars do not live long, we have need of yours. Your continued cooperation is much valued. 

Please do not keep us waiting 

It was the same closing but the message was more direct. It also went unsigned and was not in the same hand as the High Octave’s letter had been. This one must’ve come from a different hunter. The message it contained was more direct, and less coded. A request for scholars, which shouldn’t concern Kohso much at all. 

My Brother wasn’t stupid but he hadn’t been particularly blessed in matters of the school room. He did fine, and learned at an acceptable if moderate pace, but he never showed the hunger for knowledge that prompts many to become scholars. He could read, write and do arithmetic but he never aimed to learn more than the basics. 

It was the beginning of the letter that made me set it to the same side as the High Octave’s note. Things stirring across the sea, that bit caught my attention. There were many connections between the god Kos, and the sea. Many believed she dwelt there or was in some way or another tied to the ebb and flow of the waves. The Anointed Text surrounded her with nautical imagery, speaking of sea foam and coral. I would have to cross-reference and see if stirring had ever been connected to the ocean, or if there was mention of what lay across the sea. I knew the Texts well and nothing immediately came to mind, but it was worth checking. I would be questioning Kohso on this two, as he might be able to point me in the right direction faster than anyone else. 

Two letters remained. I picked up the penultimate one and whispered a prayer to the Formless Odeon hoping I would get something worthwhile from the letter’s contents. He was Lanthem’s favored god and perhaps could be persuaded to smile upon me as well, though I was far from the Vicar’s favored novice. 

Odeon decided I was not worth the effort. The sixth letter was merely a well-written thank you letter. It was written by a Choir Huntress called Yurie and she had filled the note with snippets of poetry and written in a beautiful sweeping calligraphy. I couldn’t blame Lanthem for keeping this one, it was a true work of art, but in that moment I wanted to rip it to pieces. 

I had but one chance left. 

I could feel breath catch in my throat as I wedged the last letter out of its paper mooring. The tooth of this paper was nothing extraordinary. It felt just the same as the rest. Barely daring to hope I allowed myself to read. 

Regards Head Vicar, 

Your last correspondence did not strike me as ideal. Allow me to clarify what you may have neglected to notice. I was not asking you a favor, but rather issuing a command, as is my right as your Senior Officer. If Our Great Predecessor Ludwig’s quest is to see completion then we must have our champions. 

Yours is long overdue. You have ignored my council and grown attached and now wish to substitute another in his place. 

Our Great Predecessor requires nothing if not complete purity. The Old Gods demand it as well. You have tried to engage what is rightful property of the Choir in other occupations. This will end. Additionally that is not a request either. Let there be no room for confusion. 

We will arrive at your church three days hence. I expect you to have your champion ready for us. 

Please do not keep us waiting 

This letter was also signed by the High Octave. It was the longest and, additionally the most ominous. The High Octave had mentioned Ludwig, which I thought particularly strange. The founder of our church had been counted as lost to the hunt for years. If the High Octave was to be believed then he lived still. The letter also made it seem as though this was not their first attempt to communicate with the founder of the Healing Church. 

I also noted there must’ve been considerable resistance from Lanthem to warrant a letter like this. Everything else had been exceedingly polite but this was especially demanding. The Choir had no doubt kept their promise, making me assume the letter had arrived three days ago. 

Surely the champion they referenced had to be Kohso. If Vicar Lanthem was so strongly opposed the timing couldn’t have worked out better. He was trying to send Kohso away with the Executioners. If Eros hadn’t ruined Lanthem’s plan Kohso would be miles away by now and out of the reach of the Choir. For whatever purpose they wanted him, and to whatever end they meant to pursue him I could not rightly discern. I didn’t expect he’d return from this quest. 

And I didn’t expect I was going to let him go. 

Grabbing the other two letters and shoving them in a pocket with this most ominous final one, I raced out of my room. It was imperative that I reach Kohso immediately. I tried to come up with a plan for his survival as I skirted the overpopulated receiving rooms. It looked as though the Choir planned to wait out my Brother’s recovery. 

The sanctuary had cleared up to some degree, but as I peered out from behind one of the oversized altars it was clearly still packed with stragglers. Each of the Choir members was identical thanks to their face-covering caps. There was no special delegation or decoration that made the High Octave obvious. Any of the capped individuals could be the one in correspondence with the Head Vicar. 

I tried to avoid everyone’s gaze as I made my way through the shadows. As I made my advance I was constantly worried that Vicar Lanthem would still be holding his position by the stairs. I had yet not conceived of a way to get him to let me through, but there was a chance he could be appealed too. It seems, well at least as far as three days ago is concerned that he was on Kohso’s side. He wouldn’t be so proud as to deny my help if I offered it. 

I hoped not. 

I hoped, really that I wouldn’t have to ask for anyone’s help at all. If no one was there to see me then much the better. Kohso would’ve been clutching a crucifix and praying, were he by my side. I had never kept crucifixes near though I’d been given many. Looking on back on it, they were from my injured brother, once yearly come the Yule Season. He deemed it a sensible gift since I seemed to always be losing them. I saw it as trite and unthoughtful but perhaps he had been genuine with his yearly present. 

His perception really didn’t matter at this stage. I was not the type to say prayers or perform rituals, but there was a certain comfort to it being done by a companion. If nothing else there was the assurance that an entity would protect the both of us, if for no other reason than the complete faith of the one calling upon it. The Formless Odeon hadn’t listened earlier and I did not offer additional requests. 

Despite my silence luck was on my side. Vicar Lanthem did not hold his position by the door. Quickly continuing down the hall he hadn’t a position by the stairs either. The closer I came to Kohso’s resting place the less resistance I met. There were no sealed doors or posted guards. All the caution Lanthem had utilized earlier was now forfeit. 

My stomach sank. Something wasn’t right. 

I raced up the stairs taking them two, sometimes three at a time. My robes threatened to trip me and send me sprawling backwards to the bottom. I would rather risk the injury then slow my pace. Even my shoelaces seemed to be working against me, catching under the toes of my boots as I climbed the stairs. When I reached the summit ever sinking suspicion I had in my head was confirmed. 

The door was wide open. 

I took a second and steeled my nerves before crossing the threshold. 

The room was small, a typical sleeping space. There was a single bed in the far corner. None of the lamps were lit. I rummaged in my pouch for a match as I approached the bed. I stooped to scrape the head of the match on the stone floor. Taking the freshly lit lamp in my hand I extended it towards the bed. Step by slow step I drew nearer, cold, gut-wrenching progress halting the haste with which I had ascended the staircase. 

The sheets had been flung aside. A pillow lay, tossed aside on the floor. Knowing what I would see I drew nearer, crossing the entire room until I could sit on the edge of the bed. I turned my head and looked into the void where Kohso was supposed to be, and saw nothing. 

He had vanished. 

The lantern shook in my hands. I struggled to swallow, struggled to stand. 

I immediately went to rationalization. It was completely possible that Kohso had just gotten up to use the bathroom, or take a walk. It was even, given his pious nature completely possible he had tried to get up and go to confession. There were a million reasons for the bed to be empty, but none of the pleasant ones seemed particularly sensible. 

I could only comfort myself in small pieces of evidence. There was no blood on the floor. The tables weren’t toppled. China plates and glass cups remained intact on their hardwood surfaces full of food uneaten and water not yet drunk. There were no signs of a struggle. 

But it was hard to put up a fight if you were unconscious. 

I searched the room more thoroughly, lighting whatever candles I found and throwing the curtains aside. Light poured in from every angle but the rays of sunlight and soft glow of flame did not reveal anything unseen. I could discern nothing from the room. If assailants had entered they had made quick work of removing my brother, and additionally they left no trace. 

I was bending down to check the space under the bed when I nearly jumped out of my skin. Banging my head on the bed frame I was shaken through to bone by the clanging of church bells. 

Our bells were never rung to announce a service. 

They were a call to arms. 

I couldn’t imagine what might have gone wrong in broad daylight. Beasts just didn’t attack during the sun’s time in the sky. They were nocturnal, devoted to the moon. I had enough to worry about without the booming bells and whatever impending doom their tolling warned of. 

I couldn’t think straight with the echoing sounds bouncing around my brain. Kohso was likely in danger and whatever enemy we faced had chosen the worst possible timing. 

I went stalking down the stairs already annoyed at whatever horror awaited us. The Sanctuary was newly packed with hunters, armed to the teeth. I had expected all of the Choir Hunters to have vanished just as my brother had, but there they were. They stood at the ready as eager to fight as any of us. I hadn’t been able to tally their numbers before, but they were significant. If a few of them were absent I was unable to notice it. There was no way to be sure. 

Tapping my foot, impatient I wondered what in Kos’ name could possibly warrant the bells ringing. Many hunters were glancing around the room. Some had taken to praying in small groups, huddled around each other imploring the gods for wisdom. We didn’t even know what we were up against and everyone was already trying to call in favors from above. 

“Brothers and Sisters, please attend your Head Vicar!” Sister Veera shouted over the clamor of the crowd. Her stern voice was familiar to many and the whole room felt as though they’d been suddenly scolded by their school mistress. It took them mere moments to quiet down. 

Vicar Lanthem came into view, climbing the stairs to his podium with a bit more haste then was common. He had a proper bloodletting weapon in his hands. It looked a crude thing, a giant club with spikes, but I’d seen it in use. Lanthem relied heavily on his own blood ministration, imbuing the weapon with dregs of his own blood. He fought the way the Hunters of Hunters did, throwing everything into every fight. The Head Vicar didn’t often go out hunting, to see him in church with his weapon was quite the unsettling sight. 

I tried to keep from fidgeting. I found it difficult, wrestling with other priorities when so dire a situation had sprouted up around me. The world wouldn’t pause for a single second. The Gods didn’t smile upon novice apothecaries, nor conform to their timelines. 

“My Brothers. My Sisters. My most respected members of the Choir.” Vicar Lanthem began, speaking rapidly, trying to hold the nervous rooms attention. He had our silence but our minds were want to wander. 

Lanthem had to hold off on his own summary of the situation. Whatever bell ringer he’d sent to sound the signal had become overzealous. The chiming rang out over his own speech. They sent a runner to stop the cacophony and we waited in anxious anticipation until the chimes awkwardly cut off, mid-toll. 

Once it had stopped the Vicar resumed his speech. “I fear we face an enemy most foul. One of our own dear brothers had been transmutilated. His blood was corrupted and he now runs amuck in our fair city.” 

“Who?” I was surprised to note the question came from Sister Veera’s lips. 

Vicar Lanthem sighed and hung his head. He placed a hand on the podium before him, steadying himself. I knew what name he was going to give, I hadn’t a doubt in my mind. “I fear it was our good Brother Kohso.” 

There was a gasp from the crowd. 

I wanted to call him a liar before the masses. I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming the accusation. It couldn’t be true. 

“He would never dabble in tainted blood.” Someone nearby muttered. 

The concern must’ve reached the Vicar’s ears. He fixed the outspoken sister with a stare and responded with information I felt egregiously falsified. 

“Not willingly my dear, no of course not willingly.” Lanthem informed, “It was an unfortunate contamination brought on by wounds sustained during Brother Kohso’s brief exploration into Old Yharnam. It is a sad day, but we must find him and put a stop to his rampage. I fear sedation will not be enough, more permanent measures must be taken.” 

None of what the Head Vicar said made sense. None of the information lined up. Every new piece of knowledge I gained contradicted the ones that had come previously. Hunters who did not share my conflicted state began to branch off into groups. They found familiar hunting companions and began to pair off into hunting parties. I watched the sea of familiarity crash and break around me. They strategized in whispers, theorizing ways to run down a trusted companion. 

I wanted to shout in their faces but I lacked the words and the nerve. I wanted to confront Lanthem directly but I knew my concerns would be brushed aside. Everyone around me would chalk it up to grief. If I didn’t keep my cool I wouldn’t be allowed on the hunt. Even if I maintained my temper and rallied with as much vigor as my brethren I feared my efforts to participate would be null and void. 

I didn’t say anything. I observed the activity around me, sidestepping over eager young hunters as they banded together and raced for the door. In every group of three I could visualize myself, Eros and Kohso. I tried to think back to our nights as younger hunters. I couldn’t recall any specific prey nor another night when the calamity bells had rung out. Had we ever rushed out so eagerly to slaughter someone’s companion? 

Despite continued assurances from Vicar Lanthem, which I overheard as he gave answers to many a church hunter’s questions; I knew Kohso was being framed. If he had transformed there would’ve been a sign of it to some degree. Fur, claw marks, some bestial thing left behind. His sick room had been spotless. 

“Mind if I join you?” I asked the nearest group of novices. 

Two Sisters and one Brother eyed me with a certain reluctance. The tallest of the three, and I presumed the oldest was a brown haired girl who seemed a year or so my younger. She carried a combination foil in the same style as Kohso’s and stepped forward to answer my inquiry. 

“We would be honored to have you, Brother Yilmarie.” She said, giving me a polite curtsey. 

So they knew of me. “Thank you.” I said, returning her greeting with a bow, and then raising an eyebrow in question “Sister…” 

“Jane.” She replied, “I’m Jane and this is Sister Dinah and Brother Kip.” 

I bowed to both as I was introduced. They returned my greetings, but again there was a hesitation and formality to their mannerisms. An obligation. Dinah carried a threaded cane. Kip favored an axe. Together we had enough speed and range to be a decent team. The trio had a familiarity with each other and I believed myself capable of swaying them towards heading in directions I would want to go. I also believed myself capable of sedating them if they tried to cause my Brother any harm. They would be an ideal team to go hunting with. 

We spilled out of the church like a flock of doves. Everybody was wearing white. Nothing would be white when we returned. The flock would change from doves to blood-clogged handkerchiefs, a sign of consumption and disease. From the beasts perspective that’s what we must have been; a disease. They were a plague on us so we’d become a plague on them. 

We came up the stairs to the church yard in droves. As soon as we reached the top we could see the destruction that had caused the warning bells to ring. The incense burners that Kohso and Eros had strung up through the city were torn down. Their metal frames were dented and crushed. They lay giant and useless in the streets. 

“Odeon forgive him.” Dinah said suddenly, clutching her weapon as well as her crucifix. 

I turned towards her, and let my eyes follow the direction hers were pointing in. 

She was staring at a man, covered in blood. His body was crumpled against the wall of a house. The man had been tossed into the building like a rag doll, his skull and brains clung to the wall in exploded fragments. A ghastly sight to be sure, but not unfamiliar. Sister Dinah wasn’t praying for the departed soul, she was seeking mercy for Kohso’s actions. To believe this his doing was insane. 

“Don’t reckon Odeon forgives thing like that, he don’t.” Kip said shaking his head at the scene, “But it’s our job to find what’s done it and bring him to justice. Ain’t our Brother no more he’s not.” 

“Well dwelling over it certainly isn’t going to help.” Sister Jane said pointing her combination foil out ahead of her. “There’s work to be done.” 

I let Sister Jane take the lead. There would be nothing to gain from a power struggle and she was already starting in the direction I’d intended to go. Huge red paw prints marked the creature’s path, and many had taken up following them. The streets were clogged with hunters after the same prey. 

“We’ll never get anywhere like this.” Dinah huffed, drumming her fingers on the head of her cane. 

“Too many what’s gone out hunting.” Kip agreed. 

“Perhaps a more elevated view may provide some insight.” I suggested. 

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Jane said. She suddenly turned on her heels and broke off from the huge mass of church hunters. We followed after her occasionally receiving a strange glance from one of the senior hunters who couldn’t fathom why we might have left a clearly marked trail. I did not for a second believe that Jane had thought to gain an aerial view on her own, she was all too willing to leap at my suggestion. It was perfect. I could lead this party wherever I wanted and they’d be none the wiser. 

Sister Jane located a fire escape and decided it was as good a place to any to start. We climbed up the iron rungs of the ladder until we were standing on the roof of a modest if not opulent house. 

“Oi!” the house’s occupant, a grizzled old woman leaned out the window to give us her two cents on the situation, “Just what do you think you’re doing? Stompin’ about on me roof at the crack of bloody dawn!” 

“On the Hunt ma’m.” Kip said giving the old maid a wide grin, “Best stay inside ol’ girl.” 

“Hunters out during the day. Well I never!” She huffed before slamming the window shut. 

We continued across her rooftop. The gaps between houses weren’t wide and we were able to leap them without trouble. We followed the wave of white combing the streets below us as they tracked the creature’s prints. The church hunters that I’d joined were eager to find their prey before anyone else had the chance, so they didn’t notice my wandering eyes. While they searched for beasts I searched for my brother, still assured of my convictions that he was still himself. 

The further we went the more destruction we saw. Carts had been crushed. Any living creature that might have crossed this things path had been killed and flung to the side, ripped apart by tooth and claw. The beast left their bloody corpses, it didn’t eat them, which was usual. I’d never seen a beast turn down a meal before. 

Certainly we would not be facing the skeletal thing from Old Yharnam. I was working on compiling a codex of all the creatures I’d come across, hoping it might aid whomsoever joined the hunt after I was gone. I had yet to catalog the Blood-Starved Beast, as I decided to christen it, but the attack patterns certainly didn’t align with what we were seeing. If I had my codex on me then I could see if anything else matched this methodology but I doubted it. I would’ve remembered a creature who didn’t consume i’s victims. 

That nagged at me. It was the only bit of this beast that seemed to resemble Kohso. If he had turned, and though I couldn’t picture him flinging innocent denizens against the walls; there was no way he had the stomach to eat someone. I had to remember beast-hood consumed people in their entirety. I didn’t know whether I’d be able to kill him if I came up against him. Beast or otherwise I wasn’t ready to lose him so soon after Eros. 

I shook the thoughts from my head as we circled behind the top of a chimney. This creature couldn’t be Kohso. His room had been clean, no sign of a struggle. This was all some kid of ruse. I repeated the phrase over and over in my head until the words stopped making sense and I questioned why a ruse was called a ruse. Why any word was called any word, why we gave significance to syllables? I tried to shake those thoughts away too, the product of a wandering mind when I needed my wits razor sharp. 

“Eyes up Dinah!” Jane said, grabbing the hood of the younger huntresses’ robes seconds before she slipped off the side of the rooftop. 

“Sorry Sister!” Dinah squeaked when she’d regained her footing. 

“A mistake like that could cost your life in battle.” Jane scolded, trying so much to sound as though she’d had the experience. 

“Let’s just focus everyone.” I said, “Eyes up. Look out for each other, the thing could be anywhere.” 

They nodded their agreement and we continued on. The beast had covered a lot of ground. Our course was suddenly familiar to me. I sped ahead of Jane and began to surpass the searchers below. 

“What are you doing?” Jane asked. 

“The Promenade.” I explained, “It’s got to have been something at the Promenade. That’s where they held the Execution, wasn’t it?” 

“You weren’t there?” Kip asked, astonished. 

I shook my head, “I was busy.” 

“Rotten luck that is.” Kip replied, “But the whole thing was had in the Promenade for sure.” 

“What are you supposing, Brother Yilmarie? That the Vileblood came back from the dead?” Dinah asked. 

“There’s no way he could. He was in pieces.” Jane contested. 

Both of them would break into a squabble if I didn’t make myself clear. “I don’t think this destruction was Kohso’s doing. The Head Vicar has it wrong. Beasts have heightened senses yes? Better smell, better taste?” 

I looked back to their questioning eyes as they nodded in response. Even the youngest church members knew that but it was worth establishing common knowledge. It made you seem less insane when you proposed a bold theory, as I was about to do, if you could establish your previous experience with the subject. 

“Then the beasts, normal Yharnam beasts, the things we’ve fought a thousand times, couldn’t they have smelled that carnage?” I said. 

Nods from the young hunters. 

I continued, “And smelling it they would’ve suspected an easy meal. They would’ve followed the scent. I am not one for doubting the thorough methods of our comrade Executioners, but is it not also conceivable that there were traces of the Vileblood left behind? Something a crow or a Lycian could’ve slurped up?” 

“There was quite a good bit of blood, there was.” Kip said. The Sisters nodded their agreement. 

“I believe that whatever is tearing the city apart is some beast that’s had its fill of Vileblood. There’s no telling what the combination could do to a creature. Vilebloods are known to be stronger and tougher than just about anything else, surely their blood could’ve caused a mutation.” 

“That’s just what I was thinking.” Sister Jane said, lying again. 

Dinah rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. “Shouldn’t we warn the other hunters? If the thing tearing up the city isn’t Brother Kohso then, well, what if they were to find him?” 

“I don’t know about you three but if the Vicar said he turned then he turned.” Kip argued, “Maybe he’s not what’s been rampaging through the streets but he’s gone beast alright. Best to do away with him as well before we’ve another Cleric Beast on our hands is what I say.” 

The Sisters both thought this wise and I was not in position enough to argue. I really should have brought my codex along. The blood of two creatures like this mixed together is something that might never have been seen again. I vowed to remember every detail for later cataloging, maybe even collect a sample if it was at all possible. 

We sped towards the Promenade. The rooftops gave us far greater speed then the streets below, but upon arrival we would have to descend. There were no places of higher elevation there, especially considering they would have disassembled the execution platform by now. Whatever we faced we’d have to take it on eye to eye. 

“It’s just ahead now!” Jane called. We all saw the carnage at the same time. 

Below the red footprints had culminated into a mess of bloody brushstrokes. Packed into the promenade was an undulating mass of oversized creatures. There were so many of them crowded together I had to blink several times and really strain my eyes to focus before I could pick any single entity out. They were all moving at the same time, scratching and clawing over one another. Some were pushed out to the sides, pressed against the fences that ran the perimeter of the Promenade. 

The area itself was in shambles. Fountains were smashed to small piles of stone. Iron benches were dented inwards into abstract sculptures of contorted iron, now hardly recognizable. They stood out like skeletal bat wings amongst the sea of horrible hungry things. 

In the center, the place I could only assume had been the grounds for the Vileblood’s death was the highest concentration of beasts. They crawled onto each other’s shoulders, starting fights with their own kind. I couldn’t figure the reason until one Greatwolf got into a scrape with an entire flock of crows. The Greatwolf had been directly in the center of things, his bulk able to maintain its position where smaller creatures were pushed aside. When he turned to snap at the birds a pile of gore was revealed. 

Dented buckets and scraps of Executioner’s robes were mixed in with the reddish pink pulp. I could only conclude they were left behinds from a smaller party tasked with burying Battenberg’s remains, ambushed by an unexpected mob of Yharnam beasts. Their bodies were, largely ignored. The occasional dejected crow would peck out an eyeball as it waited for its chance at a more appetizing meal. 

The Greatwolf who’d snapped at the crows was targeted by the flock. They drove their beaks into his flesh and pulled him backwards, working as a unit before turning on each other as they drew nearer the Vileblood’s body. Pushed outside the circle the dejected Greatwolf let loose a howl of frustration. 

His howl quickly changed tone from frustration to pain. My hunting party watched as his body cracked and shifted. The wolf’s neck stretched out longer. The bones in his shoulders, cracked and expanding before resettling themselves broader and higher. The claws on his limbs doubled in size. He mutated until he was two times his original size. This was the kind of thing that could tear through the streets of Yharnam as we’d seen. The Greatwolf’s eyes burned red. Its fur fell out in patches revealing soiled skin, covered in oozing boils and sores. I hadn’t thought it possible for one of the beasts to grow more grotesque, but I stood corrected. 

“What in Kos’ name?” Dinah mumbled. 

“Believe me, Sister Dinah, Kos had nothing to do with this.” I said. 

They did not argue my point. As we watched the swirling mass of feathers and fur it became evident we had to act fast. Every beast that managed to get its fill was a threat far greater then we’d yet encountered. There would be no way to save Yharnam if they all managed to transform. 

“What’s your plan, Sister Jane?” I asked “Surely if you had figured out the contaminated blood problem you will no doubt have some insight into our battle strategy?” 

It was a cruel move. I knew she wouldn’t be able to cobble together a response. Her bottom lip hung open like a dead fish. 

“Yeah Jane, what are we going to do?” Dinah asked. 

With the added pressure of another inquisitive soul, Sister Jane began to mutter. The longer she spent stammering the more contaminated beasts we’d have to contend with. It was time to stop the farce that was her leadership. I stepped in to take control. 

“We need to close up the gates, lock them inside the Promenade.” I said, “If we can seal them up, we can burn them out.” 

Dinah and Kip nodded, eagerly awaiting the rest of the pieces of my plan to fall into place. Jane still seemed to be trying to figure out the situation. Whatever I said didn’t seem to be sinking in. We were one hunter down. 

“Brother Kip are you familiar with these streets?” I asked. 

Kip gave me a quick nod, “Should hope so, been walking them all my life, I have.” 

“Good.” I said, giving him an encouraging smile. He had an air about him that reminded me of Eros. Eros responded to a bit of positive encouragement, I could only assume the same would ring true for the novice. “I need you to go down there. Be quick and be quiet. There will be two big levers you need to pull. Pull the levers, close the gates and lock those monstrosities in.” 

“Quick’s the word and sharp’s the action.” Kip said. 

“Exactly.” I replied. “Now for you, Dinah.” 

“Yes Brother Yilmarie?” Dinah asked. 

“We’ll be needing some flame and some fuel. I need you to run back, find every hunter that you can. Tell the Choir members we need their Rosmarinuses and every Flamesprayer they can find. Also oil; we’re going to need lots of oil. Get all you can and join Jane and I on the rooftops. We’ll give you cover and try and keep the beasts from escaping.” 

They saluted me in the affirmative with traditional church bows before turning to their tasks. Kip and Dinah scrambled down the nearest fire escape. 

“Sister Jane?” I asked. 

“That was cruel of you.” She said. 

“As is pretending to know what you’re doing when you don’t.” I said, all but biting my tongue to keep the hostility from my tone, “Things like that get people killed. If you don’t know what you’re doing that’s fine. You’re a novice, no one expects you to be able to lead a battalion.” 

“Yes but-“ 

“But nothing, Sister. Right now you’re needed for another task. Take the left side, and shoot at anything that gets too close to the gate. I’m sure you know how to handle a gun.” I instructed. 

“I do.” Sister Jane said, before turning to her task. I didn’t expect that we’d be making much in the way of conversation. 

As urgent as our cause was, it was strange how slow the world began to move. The beasts below were not actively conspiring against us, as opposed to a typical hunt. They stayed right where I wanted them too, swirling around the center of the circle. I did not need to lose a single knife, nor Jane fire a single bullet. We watched and we waited. 

I could easily track Kip’s progress. His white robes would’ve stood out even in darkness. The morning light made them all but blinding. Dinah was seen for but a flash before heading back down the street we’d traversed parallel too. Hopefully she would find the hunting party with all the swiftness I could desire. 

A screeching raked our ears when the first lever was pulled. Iron gates long rusted open were forced to leave their rest and perform the tasks they were designed for. The screeching was enough to turn the heads of beasts, but nothing more. They were in far too great a frenzy over the vile blood to be bothered with strange sounds for more than a moment. Brother Kip hadn’t even hesitated. He trusted us implicitly, there was no look over the shoulder. If a beast pursued him he was confident we would end it before it could do him any harm. He continued, making his way towards the second gate. 

“I’m sorry.” Jane apologized as our eyes monitored our Brother’s progress. 

I was going to let her troubled spirits subside and offer her a dose of forgiveness but we were quickly interrupted by footsteps on the rooftop. 

“Keep watch.” I said to Jane, instead of anything softer, or more reassuring. I then turned to the new arrival and bowed. I remembered Kohso’s warnings about the Choir’s rigorous adherence to formality. 

The Choir member returned the bow, and presently introduced herself. Her feminine voice betrayed her gender, removing some of the obscurity created by the mask. "I am the High Octave. I’m told you have a plan, Novice.” 

“Yilmarie.” I corrected, “My name is Yilmarie.” 

“Very well then.” The High Octave replied, “We were told you have a plan, Brother Yilmarie.” 

Her sentence was punctuated by the squealing shriek of the second gate snapping shut. I waited until it was finished rending its cries to the heavens before giving her my reply. 

“Yes.” I confirmed, “It’s quite simple actually. We can douse them with oil and gasoline from above, then burn them out.” 

“And what of those that have already escaped?” The Choir Leader inquired. 

“They’ll have to be hunted by smaller parties.” I said with a shrug, “But I imagine making this our primary objective is in line with the goals of both the church and its choir.” 

“How perceptive of you.” She returned. “Your plan is a solid one, Brother Yilmarie. You shall have our aid and anything else you require. Let us pray all goes as plans.” 

“I doubt there is much time for prayer now, but if you’d like.” I said. 

There was a chuckle from behind the mask. So the Choir had a sense of humor. That was most unexpected, typically I received nothing but scolding or a slap on the wrist for my sarcasm. The Choir had been built up to be stricter then Sister Veera; laughter was the last thing I suspected. 

“There’s no need for it Brother Yilmarie. I am sure the gods have already heard your plans and decided what outcome we will have, favorable or otherwise.” She said to me, “What do you need us to do?” 

I laid out my plan for the High Octave and she took to it with great enthusiasm. She handpicked hunters from the eager crowd below, sending them to different rooftops with small parties of their own. Those that remained either armed themselves with fire or began organizing themselves into a chain. Once the chain was complete it was like a volunteer fire brigade, except instead of putting out fires we had created it to start one. Hunters passed buckets of oil, gasoline, alcohol and any other flammable substance readily at hand from one to the other. The chain quickly stretched so that each rooftop was afforded a steady supply. Hunters took their aim and doused the ground and beasts below with mixtures. 

As the flammable liquids began to pile up, the Choir hunters swelled forwards. They had set up a perimeter just outside the fence and lay the horns of their fire-breathing weapons on the metal cross beams. The High Octave looked to see that all was in place before firing her pistol in to the sky. 

The signal was given. 

A cloud of flames painted the Promenade a violent orange. The Choir hunters worked in perfect synchronization, lighting the outer ring of beasts before the smoke from the High Octave’s gunshot had faded. A few seconds later you could smell the burning, and the creatures began to yowl. While they had once strived to reach the center now their vision was clouded and their noses plugged with smoke. They twisted and clawed, scratching themselves and anything nearby. Desperate to put out the flames they tried to roll the fire out on the ground, which only made matters worse as they sopped up more of the oil and gas. The inferno caught from beast to beast, working exactly as I hoped it might. The large creatures that would’ve posed a threat were now trapped in a fiery cage, made from the creatures they’d clawed over. Everything burned. 

The High Octave placed a hand on my shoulder. Sister Jane looked on at us with a mix of contempt and admiration, still wrestling with her perception of me. We sat on the rooftop and watched our enemies expire until they were nothing but piles of ash. The smell was all consuming. I was for once, glad of the thick folds of my church robes. I pulled the hood of the garment around to the front, pressing the cloth over my mouth and nose, hoping to filter some of the odor. The High Octave had the benefit of her mask, which enclosed her nose and no doubt blocked a majority of the scent. It surely smelled worse to those down below. 

“You have a great gift for strategy, young Brother Yilmarie.” The Choir Leader said to me, as she turned to head down the fire escape and return to Odeon Chapel. “We could make use of a Novice like you.” 

A spark of excitement ran through me. I was about to try my hand at another joke when my fingertips brushed against the letters, still tucked inside my pocket. A sense of humor she might’ve had, but she had also a possible interest and ill intent for Kohso. I was not going to be a foolish maiden so easily swayed by her charms. Still, a place in the Choir could be advantageous. It was not as though Vicar Lanthem could be trusted either, for he was ready to blame tonight’s massacres on Kohso. Neither leader had my trust, but both might prove useful. I would endeavor to keep both in my good graces. 

I bowed, acting the humble church hunter. “You are far too kind, High Octave.” 

She smiled, “We shall have to talk later, after the smoke has cleared.” 

“Literally.” I quipped. 

She smiled, then climbed down the ladder. I looked over my shoulder, taking a last glance at the Promenade. It almost looked like there had been a snowfall from this distance. I waited until the High Octave reached the bottom of the ladder before I made my descent. 

There was an entire hunting party waiting for me when I reached the ground. When my boots brushed the pavement they burst into applause. Whatever denizens had managed to sleep through the incineration would no doubt have been awoken by the sound of it. For a few moments I was confused, it took me longer then I cared to admit to realize their admiration was directed at me. The High Octave stood among them clapping along with the others. 

“Well done Yilmarie!” A Senior Vicar who had never spoken to me before cheered. 

Several Sisters came forward to shake hands. I tried to brush the side, or stammer encouragement for them to quiet down, but my efforts were all for naught. The church would have its pageantry and celebration, consent or otherwise. A few of the tallest and strongest hunters in our congregation hefted me on to their shoulders. I was paraded back to Odeon Chapel with a proper Hunter’s Celebration. No one seemed to mention the fact that I hadn’t actually killed a single beast. 

I wished I were allowed to disappear once I made my way through the doors. I wanted to go down to my room in the basement and re-read the letters. Now that I had had an audience with their author perhaps there was additional wisdom I had missed on my first reading. The enthusiastic party of church hunters were not going to let me slip away. 

In the end my seclusion was granted, if only partially by the same High Octave whose words I so wished to examine. After I was congratulated by face after face and multiple glasses of church wine were given (each of these I poured onto the floor or tossed over my shoulder, I had no affection for intoxication) she managed to pull me away from the festivities. 

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and led me away from the dining hall we’d ended up in. She had long legs and walked at a brisk pace. At times I found myself jogging in order to keep up with her. As we traveled through the church I realized we were headed for the hallway I’d recently broken into. The High Octave was taking me towards Lanthem’s chambers. 

“Where are we going?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. I wondered whether she would choose to tell me the truth or lie. I often tested new people out this way before deciding if they were worthy of trust or not. 

“Somewhere private.” She said. 

The doors opened when she depressed their handles. Nothing was barred for the head of the Choir, although I didn’t see how she managed to get in without a key. It had to be some secret or trick to the door I didn’t know about, for unlike me, she did not possess a key ring of her own. 

Whereas the pace we took down the common shared hallways was quick, the one we weaved through Lanthem’s collection of relics was a good dealer slower. The High Octave did not turn her head to look at any of the objects but she seemed to expect me too, going along more moderately so I had time to gaze at them all. She didn’t know I had seen them before. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” The High Octave asked me. 

The answer she wanted in return was obvious, and I had no reason to deny it to her, “Yes ma’am.” 

“We are in your Head Vicar’s private chambers.” 

I should’ve hid my disappointment, for I had expected something unknown and intriguing as opposed to what was merely common knowledge. I chose not to suppress the wispy bit of laughter that welled up inside of me. I chuckled and informed her that every novice in the church knew that. 

“Lanthem does not keep his comings and goings secret?” she asked, a hint of alarm in her voice. 

“Hardly.” I replied, “Though it doesn’t make a difference. The doors are always locked.” 

“And that keeps people out?” she asked. 

It seemed as though I would have to be the one to tell the first lie, “Yes, I should think it does ma’am.” 

“Well, that doesn’t apply to everyone.” She said pushing open the door to Lanthem’s chambers. 

She strode right in as though the room was her own. She wasn’t at all put off by the sculpted Amygdala that lurked above us. She passed right underneath it and settled herself onto one of the awaiting white leather couches. She indicated the seat next to her, and I took it. 

“Do you know why I’ve brought you here?” She asked me. 

“I should think not, ma’am.” I replied. 

She cleared her throat, preparing for an explanation. If this had been my own room, apart from apologizing for the mess, I would’ve gone to start a kettle and offer her tea. A drop of honey and a bit of lemon mixed with the soothing infusion of tea leaves was helpful to storytellers whose ramblings went a little on the long side. It kept the throat from going scratchy. However these quarters were not my own, the only thing I could offer her were ears willing to listen. 

“Your Head Vicar promised something to me, well to us, the Choir, a long time ago.” The High Octave began. “Much of our work rested on this promise being kept. It was a bargain neither side was proud of making, but I’m sure you know that the hunt requires sacrifices of us all. The way you chose to go out with a group of novice hunters, well you must’ve been prepared to lose one or two of them if you’d had too.” 

I nodded. They’d all been expendable, if the situation called for it. Fortunately they hadn’t and each returned with their lives and limbs fully intact. Kip was much celebrated as well, I had seen him hefted onto the shoulders of a different group of hunters and carried home. Unlike me he didn’t have any reservations when it came to celebrations. I hadn’t seen him without a goblet of church wine in his hands since crossing the threshold. He should learn to be more careful or he’d be enduring lectures from Sister Veera. 

“We had already given Vicar Lanthem the things we were prepared to loose. We established our church nearby so that we would always be there to provide the required aid.” The High Octave continued, “We gave Vicar Lanthem plenty of time to prepare his side of the agreement for us, but when it came time to settle up, he showed a certain, reluctance to pay us what we are due.” 

“He owes you money then, ma’am?” I asked, intentionally naive. 

She shook her head, “No, we have plenty of that and no need for more. This was something a good deal more unique then money.” 

“I’m sure he will give you what he promised.” I lied, “Perhaps he’s just misplaced it.” 

She chuckled, “No. It’s not something you can replace. I am choosing to trust you, Yilmarie because I sense your hesitation to trust those in power. It is admirable quality for the task I wish to set you. You are not impressed by title or position. So much of the church gets too tangled up on doing things the right way that nothing ever gets done.” 

“What do you mean for me to do, ma’am?” I asked. 

“I seek your assistance in finding what it is that the Vicar keeps hidden from me.” The High Octave said, “We cannot tarry long in Yharnam, there are so many other tasks we must attend, so speed is of the greatest importance.” 

“I’ll need to know what I’m looking for.” I told her. 

“It’s something you already seek.” She informed. 

The High Octave smiled at me. As the corners of her lips turned upwards I felt a lump form in my throat. My hands, lost deep in my robes’ pocket, tensed, crunching the paper envelopes concealed inside. I had the sudden desire to beg her for silence, to not tell me. I knew what she would say, but if she put words out then another theory would be confirmed and I would have no cause to study the letters. Right here right now the solution was being provided. It was ugly and cruel, something that would thrive in the shadows of suspicion far better than the harsh light of reality. 

All the same she didn’t hesitate to speak it aloud. “We’re looking for your lost friend of course, Brother Kohso.” 

“What do you want with him?” I snapped. The words came out harsher then I meant them, and I instantly regretted saying anything at all. 

The High Octave’s smile disappeared. “You think ill of me?” 

“Forgive me.” I apologized, hoping that I sounded sincere, “I have lost too many of my Brothers lately.” 

She nodded her understanding, but her smile did not return. “Your brother comes from far away. It’s a land that has long been lost to us but we believe there might be a connection between him and the church founder Ludwig. If such a link exists, then we need to do all we can to make full use of it. We of the Choir wished to have explored these possibilities long ago, when he was first brought here but Lanthem made a campaign to give him a sensible upbringing. There was wisdom to this, for really one cannot have a conversation with an infant, can they?” 

“No ma’am.” I said. 

“So he was raised in the Healing Church, and it proved to be an exceptional choice. As I’m sure you know he grew up bold and strong like any good hunter, but you see it was time for him to return to us. We still have need of him.” 

“He doesn’t remember anything from his childhood.” I said, “He wouldn’t be any help to you.” 

“We have…certain methods we’d like to test out before that could be assured.” She said. “And, additionally we would not be staying at the Grand Cathedral, nor any other place you’d be familiar with. Brother Kohso has a destiny, cause to return from whence he came and we want to help him get there.” 

“To what end?” I inquired. 

“There is no end.” The High Octave said, lying to me directly for the first time in our conversation, “We simply wish to follow him on his journey. We believe he who is lost can lead us to other lost things.” 

“What lost things?” I asked. 

The High Octave shook her head, “Now now Yilmarie, please. You cannot expect me to give away everything. I want to trust you with this, but you must show me you can be trusted.” 

As she spoke the High Octave left the couch and waved a hand towards Lanthem’s study. Out from the shadows emerged another Choir Hunter, this one much shorter in frame and closer to my own size. He wore a bright red jacket over his choir robes and a belt, not unlike my own full of pouches and sharp things. 

“Yilmarie, I’d like you to meet Izaius.” The High Octave said, “Tonight I want the both of you to search Yharnam top to bottom and see if you can’t retrieve what is lost, without the Vicar’s knowledge.” 

Izaius dipped his head into a bow, “Good Brother Yilmarie, it is a delight. I look forward to working with you.” 

“Likewise.” I replied dryly. 

Izaius didn’t seem to pick up on my sarcasm. A knife glittered in his belt, a large ruby on the handle catching the light in the room and reflecting it back into my eyes. He hurt to look at. 

“He’s a hunter after your own taste.” The High Octave continued, “He favors small knives and slit throats. I thought the two of you could cover most of the city. If your brother is within these walls, find him and bring him to us. I promise you Yilmarie, the Choir will not disappoint you like your Vicar has. We do not cast aside hunters simply due to where they come from.” 

To prove her point the High Octave removed the cap that concealed her face. I had already noted her darker skin tone; but now that she was freed of the obstruction I could see that she and I shared a similar quality of impossible to tame hair, though the High Octave had managed to restrain hers in a braid, coiled on the top of her head like a snake. She did not have my freckles, but our eyes were both dark. Some of the church hunters had called mine black at times, as though it were an insult, but they were the same as hers. 

“There have been witches from Hemwick, I will grant him that.” The High Octave said, “But Lanthem forgets there are great and powerful forces working for the church that came from the forest too.” 

“I will assist you to the best of my ability.” I said as she replaced her cap. This time even I wasn’t sure whether what I had said was a lie or the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	3. The Lighted Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has Kohso gotten himself into?

Everything seemed to be attacking me at the same time, the lights, the chill, the voices; everyone wanted to have their go at me. I hadn’t been able to connect the dots and figure out why everything was suddenly so hostile. Last I could remember I’d been put up in a bed in an unfamiliar room. Now there was a hand on my arm, held fast and persistent, pulling me along the early morning streets. 

Early morning was sure to be the cruelest time to pull someone out of bed. The sun was bright enough to blind you but it was yet to warm the streets and banish the cold the night left behind. It contained all the worst moments in the twenty-four-hour circuit. We hadn’t even the pleasure of the sunrise, the sky had gone grey from the start. It was likely to rain. 

“Where are we going?” I asked of the strange cloaked person who was dragging me behind them. I wasn’t sure whether they were the same one I’d noticed the night before. 

The voice they replied in was foreign to me. I had never heard one with its particular accent and was unable to place its origin. “Away.” 

They talked so fast and their voice was muffled by the folds of cloth and the clamor of early day laborers beginning their tasks, that I was further unable to determine the gender of the speaker. 

I had all intent to ply them with more questions when I heard a guttural screech reverberate through the streets. My cloaked companion increased their pace two fold, and I did my best to match it. There shouldn’t be any beasts about at this time. I wanted to investigate but I hadn’t had the chance to take my foil with me. It was somewhere back at the Chapel. 

“We have to go back!” I insisted, doing my best to dig in my heels and divert our course, “I forgot something.” 

Whomever was shadowed by the cloak couldn’t have cared less. They gave a sharp tug and we were off again, racing down the streets. 

“If something attacks I’ll be defenseless.” I argued. 

“If something attacks I’ll take care o’ it.” He replied. There was some depth and scratch to the voice, I couldn’t see it belonging to any respectable lady. 

“You’re a hunter then?” I asked. 

“O’ course.” He replied. 

The screech rang out again. I could be sure that I hadn’t imagined it now. There really was some beast out after the sun had risen. That needed attention, immediate attention. Before I could insist on investigation the cloaked stranger spoke again. 

“That’ll be Alfred. Don’t worry yourself of it. We’re losing time, quick now, keep up.” 

We turned down stairs and scurried through alleyways. It was the roundabout path of a man who didn’t know where he was going, but felt the need to put on airs all the same. I’m sure it could’ve confused someone less astute but I had been down each alley and stairway a dozen times. The place we stopped at was very near Odeon Chapel, though it was one of few that were unfamiliar to me. I’d never been inside the building, nor any of its neighbors. 

I began to suspect a poorly planned practical joke. I wrenched my arm away from the hooded man. “What are you playing at?” 

“I assure you, I am not playing at anything, lad.” He said. 

He reached for the door and wrapped on the worn wood. As he waited for the entry to open to him I looked over the establishment. Not all of my brothers had stuck to the code of the cloth as closely as I did. I had overheard stories, mostly from Eros’ companions, of brothers and sisters sneaking off to places like this one and committing sins I dare not dream of. 

“Then why have you brought me to a whore house?” I spat. 

“Because it’s the last place they’d think to look.” He said sharply. 

“Who?” 

It was the question I had wanted to ask all along. The stranger had come into my chambers without any sign of resistance and expected me to leave the church immediately. I was hesitant to trust him, and worried about sustaining additional damage or possible infections to the wounds I’d been treated for. Still there was a great deal of urgency to his motions and he had taken the time to bring me my robes so that I wouldn’t be running away without proper coverings. I didn’t suspect someone who wished me harm would’ve thought to provide their intended victim with socks. 

The mysterious man did not get a chance to reply. The door opened revealing a woman in a red and gold dress. She had a false smile plastered on her painted lips. It fell away the instant she saw us. She urgently waved us inside. 

“Quickly.” She said, “Before anyone sees you.” 

The stranger held the door open and waited for me to step inside. I would’ve liked to say I hesitated but their shared urgency outweighed my apprehension. I stepped inside. The hooded man pulled the door closed behind us. 

I had the impulse to keep my eyes shut, avoiding any potential viewings of that which I was not meant to see. I had never felt more out of place then in that moment. Everything in the room was colorful, draped in swathes of silk in a kaleidoscope of different hues. I felt as though someone had taken an eraser and pulled all the color right out of me. White wasn’t meant to be worn in places like this. 

That was until I turned around and realized that the person who brought me here had removed his cloak. He too was dressed in white church robes. He carried a color with him all the same, a shock of red orange hair that ruined the humbling effect of robes like ours. If Sister Veera had seen him she would’ve told him to put up his hood. 

“This way Mikaela.” The lady in red instructed. “He’s already waiting for you?” 

“He’s?” I asked apprehensively. 

Mikaela rolled his eyes at me. “It’s nothing like that. Now come on, we can’t stand around in the open like this.” 

I could do no more than nod and follow him as he in turn followed the woman. She seemed to know him but I couldn’t determine whether or not he knew her. They didn’t take the time to exchange pleasantries. 

We passed more girls in more dresses as we traversed their receiving room. I kept my eyes on the floor, so I could note nothing save the modesty of their hemlines. They did not expose their ankles and beyond the garish colors or overabundant lace skirts one could say they dresses as conservatively as any church huntress. 

The lady in red started for stairs to a balcony that ran the perimeter of the room. Before she could make her way up, someone leaned over the side and shouted to attract our attention. 

“Ah, look who’s back; the noble Brother Mikaela returned from his night on the town.” 

I looked up to the speaker. He was the one of most immodestly dressed in the room; wearing only a pair of loosely tied trousers and a pair of boots. If anyone would’ve been fraternizing with these women, he certainly seemed the sort. 

“Is subtlety something your truly not capable o’ having, Sig?” Mikaela returned. 

The quip went unacknowledged. The crier on the balcony turned his attention to me, “And look at what you’ve brought back with you! What a perfect little church hunter he is, so pure, so reserved.” Sig waved his fingers at me, “Hello little magnolia” 

I didn’t want to seem disrespectful, and Sig certainly wasn’t company I would choose to keep, but I figured it was safer to make a friend then an enemy. I turned and gave him a proper church hunter’s bow. 

He grinned, “Just a magnificent little magnolia. Come on now boys, the room’s all ready. Don’t keep a man waiting.” 

“He’s less bad once you get used to him.” Mikaela said as he began climbing the stairs. “Not good, just less bad.” 

It wasn’t a particularly encouraging sentiment. We traversed the stairs and the enthusiastic hunter waved us into one of the awaiting doors, which was flung wide open. I must admit I had expected a bed, or something of a similar nature but was surprised to find a pleasant sitting room. There was a table, set for tea and three chairs surrounding it. The table was covered with cream lace, a stacked platter of delicate pastries piled in the center. 

I started for the nearest chair, eager to be off my feet after the roundabout journey here. 

“Ah ah ah!” Sig cried stepping in between me and the chair, “Not so fast my little magnolia. Don’t touch anything.” 

I recoiled instantly. “Is it cursed?” 

Sig burst out laughing, “Bless your superstitious little heart. Cursed! Mikaela, did you hear that? He thinks it’s cursed.” 

“Yes o’ course I heard it. I’m standing right next to you.” Mikaela said, once again rolling his eyes. 

In lieu of explanation Sig motioned me around the table, to the other side of the room. He had precariously wedged an easel into the far corner. We had to contort ourselves a good deal to squeeze behind it. He must’ve wanted to capture the place setting from a particular angle. On the easel was a detailed pencil drawing of the place settings and delicate lace. It was a remarkable likeness, even half finished. I could see like Sig hadn’t wanted it disturbed as it stood in complete. 

“Of course I have to add the boys in later.” Sig explained. 

“Boys?” I asked. 

He nodded, “A lady too I suppose if there aren’t enough willing gentlemen to be found. Lady Arianna does her best to find me beautiful things, but alas they aren’t always easy to come by.” 

“Perhaps you’re just not looking in the right places.” I said, myself having never thought of anything on Red Street as beautiful. 

“Mm..I just think we have different definitions of the word.” Sig argued. 

He picked up the pencil lying on the easels tray and scratched some more details into the chair I’d been about to seat myself in. After a few strokes it was transformed from skeleton to structure. 

“That’s better.” Sig said, “Now we can all sit down.” 

“All well and good that your art project is well underway.” Mikaela said, settling himself into one of the chairs. “But we have other projects to take care o’. Namely the one called Kohso who sits before you!” 

He knew my name. All this way calling me lad and boy and he had known my name. At least I reasoned, this was sure to stop the onslaught of “magnolias” from Sig. 

“All in good time.” Sig sighed, rumpling the carefully draped lace as he dragged his elbow over the tablecloth to reach for a pastry. He selected a delicate macaron and swirled it in cold tea, stirring the stagnant liquid to life. He was ruining his own careful composition. “There’s time for both beauty and urgency in this world.” 

“Yes, well one is far more pressing.” Mikaela argued, and I found myself siding with him. 

“Very well.” Sig sighed dropping his cookie into the tea cup, letting it break into bits instead of eating it. “What are the Executioner’s instructions?” 

“Executioner Alfred?” I asked. 

“The very same.” Mikaela assured me, “we are friends of his.” 

“I am as well.” I said. 

“Yes.” Sig agreed, “Though far easier on the eyes I might add.” 

He winked at me. 

My distaste for the strange hunter grew stronger by the second. This only seemed to encourage him. 

“Well…what does Alfred want?” I asked, desperate to break away from Sig’s stare. 

It was not that he had an unpleasant face, but it was one that had been through the hunts. A long scar ran across his face; whatever beast had done the damage seemed a fearsome creature. It was a fearsome wound and had left the hunter with a case of heterochromia, possibly even blindness in the eye it had rent. It was a good deal lighter then it’s twin and didn’t move at quite the same rate, which I found most unsettling. 

“Paramount he wants your safety.” Mikaela said. “The both of us owe him favors and he’s cashed them in hoping we might be able to make possible your escape from Yharnam.” 

“Escape Yharnam? I don’t understand.” I said. 

Mikaela sighed, “It’s a complicated matter. I don’t fully understand it myself and I’ve been with the church for years. I know this might be hard for you to understand, but there are those in the Choir who wish to use you for dark purposes.” 

“Dark purposes?” I inquired. 

“Slaughter, sacrifice, burning at the stake. Something along those lines.” Sig said. 

“That’s ridiculous.” I scoffed, “They’ve no reason to do a thing like that to me.” 

“Sig is being a little over the top.” Mikaela agreed, “But perhaps he is not too far from the truth. Alfred was working to be able to keep this all from coming to pass. Your jaunt to Old Yharnam ruined that plan completely.” 

“It was not my idea.” I said. 

How shameful of me to lay blame on Eros. Regardless of the statement’s truth, there were plenty of time where I had failed my brothers that night. I could have, and should have chosen to remain at my post. Kos had seen to it that Eros’ death would not be the only punishment I would endure for this failure. 

“Of course not.” Sig said, “But we are knee deep in repercussions all the same, my dear. Alfred can no longer offer you his protection, he has his reputation amongst the Executioners to maintain, you understand.” 

I nodded. “So is this it then? I’m going to have to stay here and be protected by the two of you.” 

They both shared a glance before bursting into laughter. Evidently I could not have been more wrong. 

“Kos above I should hope not.” Sig chuckled, “That would be a fate worse than death. No, our only task is to get you out of here, far away from the Choir’s hands.” 

“The Choir wants me?” I asked. I couldn’t help but feel a bit awestruck at the prospect. 

“Not the way you want them to want you, magnolia.” Sig said. 

“It’s Kohso.” I informed him. 

“A church name, derived from the Old Language meaning devoted to Kos. Yes, I know it, but it does not suit you.” Sig said. 

“All the same it is my name, and I’d prefer it be used.” I huffed. 

He chuckled. “Feisty aren’t we?” 

“Don’t patronize him.” Mikaela scolded. 

The two quickly dissolved into arguing. I couldn’t determine what the root of the true conflict was but it seemed to have been festering over years. If they really got into it, I had the sense we could be here all day and well into the night. I didn’t particularly want to spend the rest of my day in this establishment. I drummed my fingers on the table trying to get their attention. It didn’t work. I tried clearing my throat but that didn’t succeed either. 

"You were saying? I interrupted, clarifying, “About the Choir?” 

“Right.” Sig said, laying the argument to rest and continuing with his earlier sentiment. “They don’t want you as some kind of hero or hunter.” 

“They are closest to knowing the minds of the Ancient Ones. If the Choir wants to use me for a purpose, whatever it might be I do believe I am obligated to fulfill that purpose.” I refuted. 

“Your piety is most becoming.” Mikaela began, “But this is not a situation you want to get into. The people who run the Choir do have access to texts we of the church have yet to see. Many of them have studied at Byrgenwerth college and know more about the arcane ways of the past then even your Head Vicar could ever hope too. The people who are after you are not like this, they were put in power but serve selfish goals.” 

“Tell me what they want me for.” I said. 

Mikaela and Sig shared another look, but frowns rather than laughter followed this one. 

“Really, magnolia…it’d be best if you didn’t.” 

“Kohso.” I said correcting him uselessly once more. 

“Kohso.” Mikaela said, “Have you ever heard stories about the Ancient Ones and their stillborn children?” 

“Yes.” I said, “Great tragedies all of them. Every child of the Old Gods is born dead, they long for surrogates, but can have none. They long for another chance at a family. There are paintings of them weeping in the-“ 

“You know the story. We get the point.” Sig cut me off. 

He stirred the mixture of disintegrated macaron and tea around the china cup. His spoon clinked against the sides. 

“I am also certain that you, having grown up with the church will know that Kos is a being o’ the ocean. “Mikaela said. 

“Yes I am aware.” I said, “How is it possible that that is not known?” 

“Some of us are just uncivilized heathens.” Sig spat, speaking for himself, “We didn’t all have such a fancy church-sponsored education.” 

“He just gets annoyed when people know things he’s not privy too.” Mikaela explained. “He could learn it if he took the time to read the Anointed Texts. It’s not as if he’s illiterate.” 

I could sense another argument brewing. I cut it off with another question, “About the ocean?” 

“Right.” Mikaela said. You could almost sense him scolding himself for getting off track so often. “You were born across the sea, found in a village with no survivors save yourself.” 

I nodded, tired of hearing information I was already intimately familiar with. I was hungry for new information. If the two hunters didn’t explain themselves soon I felt as though my brain would break apart like the pieces of Sig’s cookie. 

“Alfred never provided you with details about the Fishing Hamlet you were found in.” Mikaela continued. “But there are legends surrounding those lands from which you came. The gods had to be created somewhere, and very near your village is the mountain they say served as Kos’ shell. There is an old strain o’ prophecy, something to do with a fourth third and a child left un-slain. There have been many suspected o’ being this child, a union of god and human. If you ask me, I think it’s just ravings but many put more stock in it that I have. The Choir, Odeon only knows why, suspect you o’ being the result o’ this union. The un-slain child.” 

“That’s not possible.” I said. 

“And we agree.” Sig said, “But the Choir has yet to see sense. They think the only way to end the gods’ suffering is by returning you to Kos, ending you, my dear. Permanently.” 

“It’s just not possible.” I repeated. 

“Well possible or otherwise they’re still going to come after you. We’ve got to get you far from here until they take interest in something else.” Mikaela said. 

My immediate instinct was to resist. If the Choir wanted me, for whatever purpose then I was sworn to assist them. I had taken oaths; I had sworn vows. They were not going to suddenly come undone because two men in a whore house were making accusations. 

“I don’t intend to leave.” I told them figuring it was best to be up front, “I’d like to be returned to Odeon Chapel please.” 

“That’s just putting the nails in your own coffin, lad.” Mikaela said, shaking his head. “I’ll not assist you with that.” 

“Then I’ll escort myself.” I said standing up from the table. “I know the way.” 

“Been to Red Street before have you?” Sig laughed. 

“Not. Hardly.” I replied, turning for the door. 

“Sorry lad.” Mikaela said, getting up and blocking my exit. “But we just can’t let you do that.” 

The severity of my situation was starting to sink it. I couldn’t believe how monumentally stupid I’d been not to realize this was a kidnapping. It was no wonder Mikaela hadn’t let me go back for my combination foil. They didn’t want to face me in a fight. 

“Why not?” I asked. 

“Come on Kohso, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Sig purred. He was trying to keep his true motives hidden under a guise of charm, but he too had stood from the table. His hand rested at his hip, and I had no doubt it was hovering above a weapon. 

“I’m not making anything difficult.” I protested trying to keep my eyes on both of them, lest they attack with sudden movements. “You’re the ones insisting that I uproot my life.” 

“Alfred did say you might have a difficult time believing us.” Mikaela sighed, “How can we convince you that what we say is true?” 

I wasn’t sure how to respond. My mind went blank and I could do nothing but stare blankly. Mikaela drummed his fingers on the door’s handle awaiting my demands. 

“I..I really don’t think you can.” I concluded. “If I had heard this from Alfred it would be one thing, but I’ve known him for years and he’s never made mention of you.” 

“He must know hundreds of others he’s never mentioned to his little foundling.” Sig said, “That stands to reason, does it not?” 

“I suppose.” I said, “But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t trust you.” 

I stepped towards the door. 

“Stand aside.” I said to Mikaela. 

The church hunter would not shift himself. I reached into the sleeves of my robe, seeking the twin blades. I never would have removed them, but I hadn’t grabbed these robes myself. Mikaela had brought them to me, and he had taken the liberty of relieving them of any and all weaponry. The hunter was larger than I, but not by too significant a measure. It was possible I could best him hand to hand, and I weighed the risk. 

“Wouldn’t try it if I were you, magnolia.” Sig advised. “He’d knock you flat.” 

“And then he’d be guilty of kidnapping and assault.” I returned. 

“I can live with that.” Mikaela said. The instant he’d finished speaking his fist shot out towards my head. I side stepped seconds before it made contact, backing up into the table. Sig’s composition was knocked aside. The plates of food over, spilling its contents across the lace cloth and onto the floor. 

“Steady on.” Sig said, “No need for a brawl.” 

He had his hand on my shoulder before I could start back towards my assailant. I made an attempt to wrench myself free. Before I had a proper chance I felt a sudden stinging sensation in my left arm. Looking down I found Sig’s remaining hand and the syringe it held. As my eyesight started to go fuzzy I realized I had been sedated. 

I was trying to keep my eyelids open but they weren’t cooperating. Everything got heavy and slow. The room started to spin, and slosh together. The smashed pastry crumbs blurred into Sig’s unsettling eyes which merged with the church hunters’ fire orange hair. I tried to move towards what I perceived to be a door, but the second I stood the swirling room twisted around again and I couldn’t tell which direction was forwards. I wasn’t even sure I was standing. 

I decided that looking at everything wasn’t going to help. I let my eyelids do what they’d been begging too. I closed them and ran forward blindly. 

I slammed into the wall, instead of going through the door. As I stumbled backwards the spinning sensation bled through. It was all inside my head now, not just a solo assault on my eyes. 

“I guess that works.” Sig said. 

I opened my eyes. The strange hunter was standing over me. My whole world drained into his milky pale eye. It was as large as the moon, blotting out all the undulating darkness until it was all I could see. 

And then I didn’t see anything at all. 

When I woke up the world hadn’t stopped moving. The room I was in rattled and jostled, like the teacups on the table I’d retreated into. As the world began to snap into clearer focus the pounding in my head got louder and louder. It was like someone had strung up a church bell in my brain and it wouldn’t stop pealing. 

The wait to regain full consciousness could’ve taken hours. It might have taken minutes. Time was something I hadn’t gotten a grip on yet. After sleeping it was one of the last things to return to me. I’d often have to wait for the next tolling of the church bells before I could get my bearings. There would be none of that here. I did not know where this moving room was but I was sure that the two hunters wouldn’t have let me stay in Yharnam. 

“How long’s he been out?” 

What’s more they were talking about me as though I wasn’t there. I knew I should be angry about this, but the emotion was distant and fuzzy. It was a fast-fading dream memory of anger, I was sure it was real but I couldn’t get a grasp on it, and so it slipped through my fingers. 

The room was jostled again, more violently this time. I could hear the rattling of glassware. Were we still somehow seated at Sig’s tea table? 

It was the first of many questions I wanted to ask. Like a pot of water suddenly starting to boil on a stove, these questions bubbled up. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking them but I couldn’t seem to ask them either. They just kept appearing until it was as though my head were a thousand voices all shouting their inquiries at me. I didn’t have the answers to a single one. 

When I finally found my own voice I let the question that was yelling the loudest become my own. “Why is the world bouncing?” 

It wasn’t the most intelligent thing I could’ve asked. Certainly an inquiry pertaining to where we were going or what the two hunters planned on doing with me would’ve served me better. The words were already out however, and I heard a bemused chuckling that I supposed to be Sig’s. 

I was shifted, the room now doing somersaults as I was raised from lying down to sitting up. Once the room’s odd angle was taken away everything began to make sense. We weren’t in a building we were in a carriage. Everything was shaky because everything was moving. In a panic I leaned forward for the window, looking outside as the world whizzed by. 

Not a thing I saw looked familiar. 

“We’re in a carri-“ Sig began. 

I cut the hunter off before he could state the obvious. I was less wordy this time. “Where?” I asked. 

“One of few safe havens left.” Sig told me, “A place called Mensis.” 

I had never heard of it, but I didn’t want that to be public information. I nodded, trying to seem as if I’d been to Mensis before; or at the very least that I had heard of the place. I didn’t think Sig was buying it. 

The scenery we went past was the kind lonely painters spend their lives cataloging in shades of brown and green. Woodlands all of it, bathed in late golden daylight. There were trees far larger than the one Eros and I had watched Cassius’ demise from, peppered over the landscape. Everything was picturesque, if a little overgrown. The only woods I knew of near Yharnam were the Forbidden Woods, so called for a reason. They were supposed to be crawling with beasts, all yellowed grass and gnarled roots. This place seemed to be something entirely different. 

“Is this the usual way to Mensis?” I asked. 

Sig chuckled, “The Forbidden Woods path is the only way to Mensis” 

“Of course, right, I knew that.” I lied. 

Lying was not a particular talent of mine. Disguising the truth or augmenting details, these I was fine with, but when I had to lie straight to someone’s face I froze up. I became a stage actor who forgot my lines. My performance was no longer convincing. The audience didn’t believe me. 

“O’ course you did.” Mikaela said, “Being the smart lad we all know you to be.” 

“I suppose I don’t have a choice in this.” I muttered. 

“You could choose whether you’d like to spend the remainder of this journey sedated or not.” Sig offered. 

I glared at him and offered a sarcastic, “Thanks.” 

He grinned, “Anything for you, magnolia.” 

Now that I was reasonably awake I could take stock of myself. I wasn’t injured beyond the puncture mark from the sedative’s needle. There was a small bandage tied around it, presumably to prevent blood loss. I had no intention of lifting up my robes to check on the wound I’d sustained in Old Yharnam, not with two pairs of suspicious eyes watching. A thorough examination would have to be withheld until later, but I was able to twist my torso anyway I’d like without experiencing too much pain. I seemed to be as healthy as any hunter, albeit irritated and unarmed. 

“What’s waiting for us in Mensis?” I asked. 

Sig was about to respond but Mikaela got the words out first. “The Executioners, Brother Kohso. That’s what’s waiting for us in Mensis.” 

I cocked my head to the side, confused. 

The red-haired hunter went on, waving his hands around in broad gestures to help me understand. He must’ve thought I was still fuzzy from the sedatives and warranted the additional visual aid. I wished I could think of a polite way to ask him to stop, but came up empty handed and endured it. 

“Alfred told us to get you out of the city.” Mikaela said, “We were always going to take you to him, so you can join the Executioners as you’re meant to. They’ll be able to keep you from the hands o’ the Choir. We would have told you that but you weren’t exactly all ears.” 

“I don’t want to be an Executioner anymore.” I said, “There’s a higher calling.” 

Mikaela shook his head in disdain. 

This was the point where Sig decided to step in. He likewise copied Mikaela’s broad hand gestures. “Do you not think there’s at least some merit in going and seeing what Alfred has to say? You can always speak with a Choir member afterwards if you are so sure that their path is the one you wish to tread.” 

“Their work takes precedence over whatever council Executioner Alfred might give me.” I replied, “They seek to end the hunt, and the longer I am prevented from assisting them the higher the body count. It’s our sworn duty as hunters to protect the ones who can’t take up arms, even more so because I am of the church.” 

Sig twisted around, craning his head out the window and shouted for the coach to stop. The carriage lurched as it’s driver pulled on the reigns and brought the vehicle to a stop. Before everything had settled itself he flung the door open and leaped outside. He waved for me to follow. 

Begrudgingly I did; stepping out onto the dew covered grass. The air smelled sweet and fresh, a far cry from the smog and incense that choked Yharnam. It was pleasant, but unfamiliar. 

Sig had his arms spread wide, and he turned around in a circle. “Look around, boy.” He instructed. 

I took a few steps away from the carriage, swinging my head left and right. There were no houses or signage, nothing to mark our direction. I had never learned astrology or navigation like Yilmarie. I could not discern things from the stars. I based all of my knowledge in landmarks, visuals. There were none to be had in this forest. There was hardly a path save for the muddy ruts made by carriage who had journeyed through the woods before this one. 

“Have you any idea where we are?” Sig asked me. 

I didn’t answer him. I continued to look around more closely, trying to maintain the farce that I knew anything of Mensis. 

This did not defray Sig’s theatrics. He took me by the shoulder and led me around to the opposite side of the carriage, making pauses at the back and front. He was ensuring that I got a good look, from every angle and position. The longer the charade went on the more obvious I became. 

“Now tell me, which way is Yharnam? Which way is the Choir you’re so eager to run off too?” 

Logically I had to conclude it was somewhere along the tracks behind us. We’d come from that direction, home had to be the same way. I pointed down the road. The hunter chuckled, taking me and leading me down the way I’d marked. I glanced over my shoulder and saw our carriage dwindling in the distance. Mikaela had stepped out, his red hair a stark contrast to the green woods. 

As Sig took me along the path things started to change. The woods became darker, denser. The light faded. There was no golden glow to things. Crows cawed in the distance, and I couldn’t discern weather they were of the regular or mutant variety. What was more ominous and unsettling, was that the tracks made by the carriage vanished. It was not as though they’d been covered over by leaves or had hit a patch of dry unyielding ground that would not depress. They just stopped. They were and then they weren’t. A clear cut-off point. 

“Which way?” Sig asked, waving his hand towards the unmarked woods. 

It would do no good to start down a path and have him laugh when it was the wrong choice. The chance of making the right selection was slim and I didn’t value my odds. I looked away from the hunters accusing stare. 

“I don’t know.” I said. 

“Exactly.” Sig surmised, “So you might as well come with us. I promise you these woods are not as pleasant as they seem. The carriage has charms and blessings that protect it, Mikaela can tell you all about those if you like. I promise you magnolia, you will not make it in these woods unarmed and alone.” 

“Very well.” I said begrudgingly. “I guess I’ve no choice.” 

We trudged back to the carriage. Mikaela held the door open for me as I returned to my seat. Once we were all inside the carriage took off again, as bumpy as before. You could feel it bouncing over every root. 

“You’re likely to feel a bit dizzy.” Mikaela said, rummaging under his seat. He produced a pack and began to search its contents. He handed me a blood vial and a paper wrapped sandwich. 

The blood I took gratefully. Every hunter whose come of age has to be cut with blood, to take the cause of the scourge into their own veins. It heightens senses, slows aging and provides a variety of other benefits. The problem is it fades, and once cut we require a steady supply. It’s not a problem in places like Yharnam, where creatures crawl the gutters and can be killed with a single swipe. There is never the worry of a shortage. Traveling like this, through unknown territory, for an unknown length of time to an unknown destination, I worried about our supply. Mikaela’s pack didn’t look as big or as full as I might’ve liked it. 

It felt wrong not to offer him my thanks, but I didn’t. It was a strange polite rudeness that I had to take with them. They could feed me and keep me from blood deprivation, but they were still captors. They’d taken me away from my destiny and I would not be forgiving them for that. I unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. I found myself hating it for tasting so good. The carriage ride continued well into the night. Sig and Mikaela made a few attempts at starting conversations but I didn’t participate. They wanted to talk with me, not at me but I would not justify my jailers with a jovial tone, pretending that nothing was wrong. 

I was filled with an incredible amount of uncertainty. With each circuit the wheels below us made I could feel my patience growing shorter. The trees I had once thought beautiful now seemed mundane, repetitive. The grass wasn’t nearly green enough to be enchanting after you had been passing by it for hours. There wasn’t a sign of civilized life in sight. No sign posts, no buildings, nothing. The woods were all that existed in this world. They were starting to make me nauseous. 

We would be out of daylight soon, and if there were beasts waiting in the woods I worried what we might be up against. Charms or no charms a carriage rattling through the undergrowth was bound to be heard by something. I had never fought anything of the woodlands and it didn’t seem as though I would be given weapons if things grew dire. I leaned out the window and watched tree after familiar tree go by. 

“You’ll have to change.” Sig said 

“What?” I asked turning away from the window. 

“You’ll have to change clothes.” He clarified. 

“Why?” I asked. 

He took his time collecting his answer as I watched the scenery outside begin to change. The grass shifted, fizzling out and breaking from a green carpet into sparse patches. The dirt shifted to sand. 

“Not everyone is so fond of hunters as Yharnam is.” Mikaela said. “And there are lots of places where being a hunter can get you into trouble.” 

“It’s not like they were rolling out the red carpet for us.” I said. 

Sig shook his head, and tossed me a bundle of clothes. “Just do it.” 

“Fine.” I said, scooping up the clothing. 

I held it in my lap as the carriage continued onwards. The damp grassy smell of the woods subsided. It was replaced by the salty tang of the sea. 

“Go on then.” Sig instructed. 

I shot him a glare, “No way. Not with the both of you in here.” 

Sig rolled his eyes and leaned out the carriage window to shout with the driver again. We came to a stop and he and Mikaela exited. I pulled the door shut behind them and pulled down the shades on all of the windows. 

Once I was sure that they couldn’t see inside the carriage, I went for the packs. My jailers had made the mistake of leaving me with a cache of supplies. I quickly pulled open Mikaela’s pack. Everything was neatly organized inside, and I paused to memorize the orientation of its contents. I was seeking sedatives for the express purpose of retaliation. 

I uncovered boxes of ammunition, blood vials and dried fruits. Everything was in its proper place, and nothing nefarious was among his belongings. Replacing everything exactly as it had been before I turned to Sig’s belongings. Everything in his bag was thrown together in a confusing jumble, with no discernable pattern. I didn’t bother to make note of the order, it looked like the jittery carriage would’ve already upset whatever balance may have once been. 

Amongst the ripped pages, half-eaten meals and small sketchbooks I found a small wooden box. I flipped it open, and discovered a syringe inside, vials of yellow sedative strapped into the interior of the lid. I grabbed two of them and shoved them, one each in the toes of my boots. I doubted their absence would be noted before I had the chance to use them. 

The clothes Sig had given me must’ve been some of his own. They were made for a slighter frame and my shoulders barely fit into the shirt. The vest he’d provided wouldn’t button and the pants felt as though they were snakes trying to strangle my legs. 

There was a knock on the door as I was struggling to button the front of the shirt. 

“Everything alright in there?” Mikaela asked. 

“Yes.” I snapped back, securing the last button in place and opening the door to prove my point. 

Sig’s eyes quickly flickered up and down, taking in my new look. They let themselves rest at a rather uncomfortable height. “Little tight on you, huh magnolia?” 

Mikaela slapped the back of his companion’s neck, “Inappropriate.” He chastised. 

“I would prefer to stay in my robes.” I said, “You still appear to be wearing yours.” 

“That will quickly be remedied.” Mikaela said, pulling his robes off and revealing a much more properly tailored outfit beneath them. None of his clothes seemed to be straining to keep themselves on. 

“Yes well this won’t.” I said, glaring down at the new outfit. 

“You’ll be fine.” Sig assured, climbing into the carriage and pushing past me. “Just…don’t sneeze too hard.” 

Mikaela stifled a chuckle and followed in after him. “We’ll get you something that fits better once we reach town.” 

The remainder of the ride was uncomfortable to say the least. I tried to keep myself focused on the scenery that passed by the window, but as the sky turned dark I lost visibility. There was nothing much too look at inside the carriage either, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that Sig was still staring. 

He wasn’t. 

I kept looking up to check and he wasn’t staring but it definitely felt as though he were. It must’ve been the clothes. 

I had never particularly liked wearing another person’s things. Yilmarie was the same way although his concerns were more founded in a basis of wanting to avoid disease and lice. To me it just felt too intimate, especially considering the man was a stranger. Wearing another person’s clothes meant there was a connection between the two of you. I wanted to have as few connections to these two hunters as possible. 

Fortunately, I didn’t have to endure the small carriage interior for much longer. We passed a sign, the first one I’d seen since our journey started. I couldn’t make out the name of the town, as we passed it by too fast but it seemed a safe enough place. Small houses lined the streets. Most of them had candles in the window or hanging above the stoop, so that the streets had a warm glow about them. The streets were much narrower than the ones in Yharnam, and soon it was clear that the carriage would not be able to pass through them. 

The driver stopped for the third time since our journey had begun. Mikaela and Sig carried their packs out of the carriage. Neither of them seemed to notice that they’d been searched and looted. I had nothing of my own, save the church robes. I had folded both mine and Mikaela’s, wrapping them in the black cloak. The bundle was all I took with me. 

The carriage driver clicked his reigns and turned off the path to find a place to rest the horses for the night. The town seemed to be a fishing town, and of a decent size. I wondered if it was anything like the place where Alfred had found me. 

The streets were damp. I tried to avoid the puddles and pools of sea water, afraid that somehow getting my boots wet would reveal the stolen sedatives inside of them. Sig teased me for it until Mikaela told him to stop. Neither one of the two seemed to know where they were going. At every crossroads we came too they grabbed a citizen and asked for directions. We got a variety of strange looks. It was pretty clear we weren’t locals. 

Later rather than sooner we came to the inn they’d been seeking. To their credit it was a small establishment with low visibility and little signage. Years of wear had peeled the paint from its wooden frame and pummeled everything to a dull grey-brown. The windows were filthy, and I worried about the rest of the place. 

We stepped inside, the door squeaking on its hinges as we made our way through. There were a few tables populated with people. If I had to guess, I’d wager they were sailors. They shuffled cards or drank from tankards and steins. They were a rowdy bunch, filling the room with deep heavy laughter and the sharp scent of alcohol. I was not getting a very good feeling from this place. 

My captors showed no reservations as to the quality of the inn. They bypassed the tables, weaving between seats until they reached the bar. Sig began talking with the woman behind it, buying himself both a drink and a room. He only got one room, between the three of us. I was used to close quarters at times where the Healing Church opened its arms to guests; but at home I could be assured that the floor I slept on was clean, or the straw in the mattress fresh. 

Mikaela and I went upstairs to go see to our sleeping situation while Sig decided to stay behind and enjoy his drink. The stairs creaked and shook as we went up them. The railing had been worn smooth from countless hands traversing it. There were a few pictures lining the staircase, hung crooked on rusting nails. I was no expert on the subject but the crudely rendered charcoal line drawings of boats and flowers hardly seemed worth the frames they resided in. 

Our room was small to say the least. I wasn’t entirely sure the three of us would fit in it standing let alone lying down asleep. It contained one bed and a small table. On the table was the stump of a candle, surrounded by a pool of melted wax. The table was covered in a layer of grease and fingerprints. 

A few nails, oxidized with a similar flaking coat of rust were hammered into the wall. I hung the bundle I was carrying on one of the hooks and watched the ancient metal bend as it took on weight. I did not have high hopes that it would stay intact. 

The bedframe looked as though it had been made from various pieces of a shipping crate. The wood was stamped with letters and phrases, harkening to past destinations. I had seen coins thicker than the mattress they’d provided. The blanket put over top of it was threadbare. It would do nothing against the cold. 

“Well, it’s about what I expected.” Mikaela sighed, setting his pack down and nudging it under the bed with his foot. “You can take the bed, Sig and I will manage with the floor.” 

It would’ve been polite to try and argue this point, but being that I was a captive of the two men I felt the usual societal rules didn’t apply. I gave Mikaela a nod and sat down on the bed. It wobbled. 

“I think some warm food might do us all some good.” Mikaela said, “Why don’t you find Sig and bring back dinner?” 

He handed me a silver coin before I could agree to or oppose his request. He ushered me out the door and I made my way downstairs. The room had even less appeal without the two hunters by my side. I squeezed past the sailors, receiving many strange glances. I tried to keep my head down and seem inconspicuous and meandering as I weaved my way towards the bar. 

“Come to have a drink with me, magnolia?” Sig asked patting the chair beside him. 

“Mikaela sent me for food.” I informed. 

He nodded. 

There was only one dining option, but it suited me as well as anything. Mikaela’s silver coin bought three bowls of stew and three thick slices of toasted bread. Sig offered to help carry the bowls, and I was glad for his help. We packed ourselves into the tiny room and tried not to bump elbows while we ate. 

I stopped to pray before taking my first bite. Mikaela, despite being a church hunter was already raising the spoon to his lips, but he set it back down and joined me. Sig didn’t seem to care, and continued to slurp his strew while the both of us tried to concentrate. 

The stew which had looked and smelled decent downstairs was little more than thin spiced water with the occasional lump of potato or carrot. I could find no meat in my bowl, and I doubted that the other hunters were having a better dining experience. The bread was nice though, and the stew tasted better when it had a vessel to soak into. I’d certainly had worse meals, and I tried to enjoy it. 

“You’d better get some rest.” Mikaela said, “We’ve got more ground to cover tomorrow.” 

“No.” I said, “I’m not feeling particularly tired.” 

Mikaela sighed. I could tell he wanted me to make things easier for him. He had been shooting sideways glances at Sig throughout our meal. It was clear the two had something they needed to discuss in private, and I was being an inconvenience. This was exactly what I’d been hoping for. 

“I would like a cup of tea though.” I continued. “If that’s alright. I could get one for the both of you as well?” 

Mikaela nodded, happy to remove another silver coin if it meant a few moments alone. He placed the coin in my palm, but before I could close my fingers around it, Sig snatched the silver away. 

He waved the coin in front of me, issuing a warning as he spoke. “Don’t you go and try to run off now. I promise you, you won’t get far in this town with one silver coin.” 

I gave him the most innocently surprised face I could manage. “You think that of me?” 

It was easier to ask a misleading question then lie directly. Sig wagged the coin in my face one more time before returning it to my palm. I quickly descended the stairs making sure I stepped in all the creakiest, loudest places so they could hear me descend. When I reached the bottom step I sat on it, pulling off my left boot and shaking it until the small vial of sedative landed in my palm alongside the coin. I replaced my shoe and put the vial in my pants pocket. The ill-fitting fabric made its silhouette obvious to anyone who was looking, but nobody was. 

I requested tea and was granted it. Concealing my actions from both the bar keeper and the other patrons I poured sedative into Mikaela and Sig’s cups. The taste of it would likely go unnoticed, or if it was called in to question I could blame the inn’s lack of refinement. They’d never know. 

I made just as much noise coming up the stairs as I had going down. Sig opened the door for me, and I returned his change along with the cup of tea. I passed Mikaela his cup and sat on my bed. 

I took a sip from my cup, hoping it might encourage the others to do the same. I wouldn’t call attention to my plans, as I’d heard tell some heroes did in stories my brothers and sisters had exchanged. If I seemed even slightly suspicious I had the feeling one of the two would catch on and silently alert the other. I pretended not to care. 

Sig was the first to take a drink. He made some remark about the teas weakness compared to whatever was mixed up for him at the bar below. This prompted Mikaela to try his tea, but he found it to be rather pleasant. He argued that alcohol had destroyed Sig’s taste buds. Now desperate to prove each other wrong they took sporadic sips of their drinks as they argued. 

The sedative took effect quicker than I thought it would’ve. 

Before long the both of them were slumped on the floor, temporarily asleep. I had no idea how long they would stay out for. I quickly untied the bundle and changed into my church robes. Whatever risks I might face in dealing with townspeople who looked upon the Hunting Community with contempt, could not be as bad as these tight clothes. At least I could breathe and maneuver in my robes. I could fight if I had too. 

I didn’t have anything else to take with me. I considered making off with some of Mikaela’s silver, but I couldn’t justify it. If worse came to worse I could sell my earrings. The cross shaped ornamentations were made of precious metals, they had to be enough to get me back to Yharnam. I didn’t want to steal anything, the Gods tended to frown upon it. 

I picked my way over the unconscious bodies of my two captors, and slunk down the stairs. The stark white robes stood out against the grey wood. The people were different from the suspicious sailors I had met upon entry. They smiled. I had no idea where Mikaela had gotten the idea that these people were opposed to Hunters. 

It must’ve just been another lie to keep me from trying to escape. It wouldn’t work. I was far too clever for tricks like that. 

“Have a drink with us, Brother Hunter!” came a shout from the back of the room. 

I wouldn’t be accepting the offer but I did want to thank them for their hospitality. I came over to their table, and bowed politely. There were two men, dark haired and tan. They wore navy overcoats and one of them was smoking a pipe. 

“Thank you for the offer, gentlemen but I’m afraid I don’t drink.” I explained. 

The one smoking the pipe chuckled, “Can’t say that I understand that, but suit yourself.” 

“Is there something else we can do for you?” The other sailor asked. 

“If you could point me in the direction of the city of Yharnam, I’d be very grateful.” I said. 

The sailor who didn’t smoke, smiled. “I can do you one better than that, Brother Hunter. We have a ship; we’ll sail you there ourselves.” 

Sig and Mikaela hadn’t taken me by sea, to the extent of what I could recall. I was unconscious for the beginning of the journey, we could have gotten on a boat. These sailors were as god a place to start as any, since I had no idea which direction my destination lay. 

“Yeah, we’ll take you there ourselves. Least we can do to help in your uh…noble cause.” The sailor who did smoke said. He stood up from the table and put his arm around my shoulders. I was not particularly fond of the gesture but I smiled. 

“You are a hunter right?” The other on asked. 

I nodded, “Raised in the Healing Church and cut when I came of age, just as one should be.” 

“Good.” 

The two of them began to lead me away from the inn and down to the docks. As I put distance between myself and my former captors a feeling of guilt and apprehension grew in my stomach. The sailors kept up a quick pace and the smoking one had kept his arm around me. He was guiding me, making sure I didn’t stray. That didn’t feel too good. 

Any time I tried to voice these concerns the smoking one blew a puff of his pipe right into my face. I was coughing and sputtering, never getting the chance to talk. My legs started to grow heavy, my eyelids went next. It was just as my mind began to dull that I realized I had made a very bad decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	4. The Darkening Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We return to find out just what is happening with Yilmarie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always please let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy!

Izaius and I weren’t the only ones searching the streets when darkness descended over Yharnam. It seemed every time I turned my head there was another masked Choir hunter. Izaius and I were the only ones with eyes unobstructed. 

“If I might begin by suggesting a strategy, Good Brother Yilmarie?” Izaius said. 

His statement hardly sounded like a question, but I nodded for him to continue. It was his Choir leading the investigation I didn’t know why he thought he would need my permission, but he was more than welcome to it. 

“Thank you.” Izaius said, before continuing, “I believe we should start looking in the least likely places. The Choir will no doubt cover anywhere Good Brother Kohso was known to have frequented.” 

I didn’t like the sound of that strategy. If I were a Choir member, I would have loved it. It put all of their assets at their best advantage, but it seemed like it was giving me the least chance at finding what I was looking for. If anyone was going to find Kohso, I wanted it to be me. I wanted to be able to tell him about the things I’d uncovered before anyone else had the chance. Still, I reasoned it was better someone find Kohso, then he not be found at all. 

“That works for me.” I said. 

Izaius smiled and we began to distance ourselves from the other searchers. Kohso liked to go on outings around Yharnam, and he rarely took them alone. He was always pleased when one of the senior Vicars asked to join him, or the few occasions where Alfred had planned something for the both of them. He was one of the ones who always volunteered to show new converts around the city. I began to eliminate a majority of the city from our search efforts, narrowing it down to the very seldom ventured. 

My first suggestion was the Municipal Graveyard. The place made Kohso intensely upset, he had no marker to grieve over in the cemetery. He had thought about purchasing one for his long parted parents but decided against it because it wouldn’t bare their surname. Kohso refused to take a surname that wasn’t his own and believed his parents would’ve done the same. He ascribed to them what personality he could, and continued to avoid the graveyard altogether. 

“Not much of one for grave robbing?” Izaius asked as we passed through the cemetery gates. 

I tried to imagine Kohso plundering the coffins of the dead and stifled a chuckle. “No. Not at all.” 

The graveyard was empty. We walked past headstones, the only sound coming from our own boots as they brushed tall grasses. Many of the tombstones had flowers leaning against them. The denizens were losing a lot of each other, and very rapidly. Grief had a stranglehold on the city. 

We shined lanterns behind headstones as we searched, methodically moving up and down each row. Off in the distance loomed the great mausoleums, secure burial chambers for those who could afford it. They would make a fine hiding place, so long as the concealed person didn’t mind sharing a room with the deceased. Kohso would’ve viewed mausoleums with the same reverence he did temples. I doubted he would use one for his own purposes, but Izaius wanted to check. I had to commend him for his dedication. He checked behind each tombstone we passed, without fail. He was not in the least deflated when none produced the desired results. 

“I don’t suppose the cemetery keeper will be out to open this.” I said as we stared at the door to the first of the mausoleums. 

“I agree.” Izaius confirmed. 

“Nothing we can’t work around though.” I replied. Izaius watched with rapt attention as I picked the door’s lock. 

“Do tell, Good Brother Yilmarie, where did a proper church hunter pick up such a nefarious bit of knowledge.” Izaius asked. 

I was initially worried that Izaius was disappointed with me. The tone he spoke in always held steady and never changed inflection, but when I looked over my shoulder to respond he had a bemused grin spread across his face. He was impressed. 

I didn’t answer him, but rather stepped inside. I had never been inside one of these things before, and it was much different then I’d expected. For some reason, despite knowing the dimensions of the small building I’d expected an immense hallway lined with coffin after open-faced coffin. It was nothing like that. The mausoleum was more like a set of neatly labeled drawers. I had something very like it in my room, except my drawers didn’t contain corpses. 

“He isn’t in this one.” I said. 

Izaius had to agree with me. There wasn’t much room for hiding in the mausoleum, unless you wanted to shut yourself into one of the drawers. It hardly seemed sensible, something an over-enthusiastic child might do when playing hide and seek, but hardly the spot a full-fledged novice would seek shelter. The danger of being stuck inside prevented the drawers from being viable hiding spots. 

“On to the next then.” Izaius said. 

I nodded and we continued on. With each empty mausoleum my nerves grew more and more tense. I was not as ever calm as my companion. The other hunters might have closed in on Kohso by now, and I feared what might happen. 

We spent far too long in the cemetery. Each and every mausoleum we searched turned up empty. When we left it behind for our next destination the moon was at its peak. We would watch our time tick away as it passed its summit and descended towards the far horizon. Izaius closed the gate behind us. 

“Where to now?” He asked. 

I should’ve spent some of the time amongst the tombstones thinking of other places Kohso regularly avoided. He had me at a loss and I scrambled to come up with a suitable destination stammering as my brain spun its wheels. Izaius waited for me with eager patient eyes. He was so willing to let me have time, that I was ashamed I needed it. 

“The school house.” I said after an uncomfortable silence. 

Izaius didn’t question my decision, and we set out for the school building. None of us had been given our lessons there, of course. Everything we’d learned was taught to us within the church walls but we’d received no small amount of harassment from those who did toil in the public facilities. Kohso had taken to avoiding the place for that very reason. He’d despised the street as a child, and it had just stuck with him. He never went back as he grew, it was just a road untraveled. 

“Keep your eyes up.” I advised Izaius, “I don’t know this district too well. There could be beasts.” 

Izaius nodded and removed his ruby-handled knife. 

We snuck through the shadows like ghosts. Izaius adjusted to the more cautious pace I set, dousing his hand lantern when I blew out mine. I had more matches, there was no need to be conservative with our light sources. 

There were no streetlights lit, and as we began down the path I couldn’t help but equate it to Old Yharnam. It was another place unknown, untraveled. 

“Is everything alright, Good Brother Yilmarie?” Izaius asked. 

“Yes.” I said taking a hasty step forward. I didn’t want him to think I was afraid of the dark. 

We passed the first few buildings without any problems. I started to regain my confidence. The schoolhouse didn’t stand out from the others beside it. There was no school bell or quaint idealistic clapboard exterior. Instead it was a drab brick rectangle like the rest of them. 

Unlike the mausoleums which had been shut up tight, the door to the school was wide open. The evening wind blew it back and forth. It creaked on worn hinges, the squeaks disrupting the night’s silence. I peered inside. 

The hall darkened as it deepened. The moonlight didn’t reach very far inside the school, so I couldn’t make out much. Izaius came up by my side and proceeded into the darkness before me. He showed no aversion to the shadows. The schoolhouse had always possessed a strangely forbidden feel to me, which must account for some of my hesitation. As I was musing on the effect Kohso’s opinion of the area had had on myself and Eros I heard a rattling. Izaius’ head popped up and turned towards the sound. He looked back at me. I nodded. 

He was off the next second, quiet as a mouse. The hall branched off to a few classrooms. I looked in each as we passed. The silhouettes of wooden desks and crudely constructed chairs were the only things visible. I could tell that each of the rooms we passed was vacant; some sixth sense for sensing life that never seemed to pick up any traces of it. 

“I don’t think he’s here.” I whispered to Izaius. 

“Please Good Brother, a moment more.” Izaius pleaded, “We must be thorough. We have yet to check the other floors.” 

His determination reassured me and I nodded. We continued on. 

I hadn’t even noticed we’d reached the staircase until I’d bumped my shin into it. I couldn’t see a foot in front of me. I fumbled for a match. Izaius put his hand over mine and shook his head. He had all but disappeared in front of me, save the shine of his eyes. 

“I get the feeling something unsavory is about.” He hissed, “Best not to attract it.” 

I heard the metallic sound of knives leaving their hilts. Izaius drew his blades and started up the stairs. They were creaking old wooden things that even his careful steps couldn’t keep quiet. I unsheathed my own blades, and took the lid off the poison vial I kept at my belt. We had to feel each of the stairs out with our feet before putting our weight down, the darkness was so oppressive. 

I couldn’t fathom how Izaius expected us to fight anything in this. The beasts had better senses then us, it was well known. They didn’t require light to navigate the shadows. Even if they did their noses and ears were far superior. Izaius was denying us the one advantage we could be sure of. 

Still, he had let me take the lead in the cemetery. He had trusted me to navigate and to know the streets of Yharnam. The least I could do was reciprocate. His confidence was reassuring and whether he could see me or not, he kept looking over his shoulder to check. 

It couldn’t have taken more than three minutes to reach the next floor but the tension in the air drew each second out. The rattling we’d heard earlier was more pronounced. Everything was pitch black. We made our way forward with one hand on the wall. Each time we passed a doorway I worried we’d lose our sense of direction, hands drifting from solid wall to empty space. The further down we went, the louder the sounds became. 

Izaius’ foot brushed against a left behind satchel. The bag toppled and a sheaf of papers spilled out. The consistent rattling cut off. We heard heavy breathing and heavier footfalls. I tried to judge its gait by the sound, discern bipedal or otherwise, but Izaius had entered the room before I reached a conclusion. 

It was another move I thought foolhardy. I followed after him all the same, worried this would end in the same manner the jaunt to Old Yharnam had. The school room smelled like spoiled meat. Unsavory had been putting it nicely. 

There was an inhuman scream of pain, followed by more crashing. Whatever it was, was too big to be Izaius, he must’ve hit the creature. 

“Help!” Izaius shouted. 

“I can’t see you!” I shouted back, but surging forward towards the source of the noise anyway. 

I was knocked aside by a powerful paw. I crashed into one of the school desks. The cheap wood broke under my weight and I instantly acquired a half-dozen splinters. They stung, but I could worry about them later. Preference or no preference I wasn’t about to fight this thing blind. As the beast turned for another attack I fumbled for my matches. 

Fire caught and I took in what we were up against. Out in the open, things like this would be no trouble, but in the closed quarters of the cramped schoolhouse these beasts were going to pose a problem. There were three in total, all bipedal lycanthropes. I hated these things, always had. They were some of the only beasts that walked on two legs, which gave them a distinctly human silhouette. IF you ignored the fur their faces were fairly human. Depending on how far the plague had spread in them they might have other lupine traits, or just seem like a suspiciously hairy beggar. 

And they were fast. They were really fast. It’s hard to get a pin-point throw on a moving target. The three of them weren’t working together, still recovering from the shock of light. It burnt their sensitive eyes, if only for a few seconds. I had to capitalize on every one. 

Izaius had been tossed on the opposite side of the room. Two of the lycans boxed him in, the third being much closer to me. One of the two that surrounded my companion was nearly down for the count. Even in the deepest dark Izaius’ blade has struck true, lodging itself in the monster’s eye. The lycan clawed at it with its crudely formed paws hoping to dislodge the stinging projectile and reclaim his sight. I didn’t have time to aim for his remaining eye, instead I split my attention and threw two knives in two directions at the same time. Both hit their marks, though neither was as critical a strike as my ally. Now each lycan had a fresh wound to contend with. 

I started towards Izaius but my lycan had other plans. The knife I’d thrown had landed in its leg, and didn’t help me in the slightest. It’s long gnarled claws caught the hood of my robe, tearing through the thick fabric and ripping downwards. They just barely scraped my skin as I struggled to free myself. I reeled around and stabbed its paw with another knife. The lycan howled in pain and its claws pulled free. 

Rather than kill it I strived to reach Izaius. He was back on his feet but still seemed to be dizzied from the impact. As I hurried towards the other lycans I dunked my blades in the open poison vials, hoping the concoction would further slow the beasts. My other knife had just gazed the unhindered lycan’s side. He lost a tuft of fur, and all his remaining patience. He snarled as I advanced and turned away from the unsteady choir novice. 

Yellow eyeballs bore into mine as the beast lunged for me. I planted my feet and crossed my knives bracing for impact. When the lycan’s full weight descended on me I was knocked back despite my good form. I sashed at its’ chest as the beast bore down on me. Poison would seep into the cuts and kill it over time. If I only had time. 

The beast who’d attacked me first had recovered from its slashed paw and was eager to assist its friend. It let out a howl and charged at me from the back. The poisoned lycan’s jaws tried to snap at me from every angle, its breath hot and horrible clouded my nostrils. It smelled like hot carrion. I couldn’t turn my head to check the progress of the other as it charged, I had to judge the distance by the sound of its approaching footsteps. 

At what I could only guess was the correct moment, I let the weight of the beast have me. I allowed my legs to buckle and I sank to my knees. The poisoned lycan had me pinned, but it had happened in such a sudden motion that he could not account for the other’s oncoming charge. Lycan clashed against lycan as the attack meant for me was launched on my attacker. It landed in a heap, the weight of both beasts crushing me. I couldn’t push them off. I couldn’t get in a good breath. 

By this time Izaius had shaken the confusion from his head. There was the unmistakable gushing sound of a slit throat. Spurts of blood splashed the floor as the blinded lycan spilled crimson. Izaius wrenched his knife from its corpse and pushed the confused tangle of lycans off of me. I sucked in air and struggled to my feet. I turned to thank him, but the growling of the poisoned lycan cut me off before the words came out. 

It jumped for Izaius but he was ready for it this time. Rolling, he dodged its attack and came up by its side. His knife flashed silver in the candlelight before it was thrust towards the lycan’s throat. The beast knocked it aside with its paw. 

I had my own beast to deal with. One paw down, it circled me, cutting me off from Izaius and backing me towards the far corner of the room. Every time I bumped into a desk or my retreat was stalled by a chair it swiped at me. I was able to keep a few feet between us but I was losing ground fast. I could not afford to be backed into the walls. 

The next time I hit a chair I grabbed the back of it. I hurled the flimsy furniture at the lycan. It broke on impact, shards and splinters spraying across the room. The lycan howled in frustration, lunging for me out of rage. 

It was an impulsive attack, uncalculated. 

It was just what I needed. 

A small sidestep was all it took to free myself from retreating. I spun around and took up the lycan’s position, keeping up a flurry of slashes and herding it towards the corner. They had to be constant or it could seize an opportunity and break free. It jumped to the left and right, trying to fake me out, trying to find a way out. I wouldn’t give it any leave. I advanced on it relentlessly. Even when it slashed directly at my face, claws scraping my nose, I didn’t lose ground. I let the copper tang of blood fill my nostrils and pushed it back. 

Saliva leaked between its teeth as it growled at me. The strange mix of human and animal was especially unsettling when it was locked in a snarl. The lycan’s face wrinkled in all the wrong places. I continued to slice at it, the more ground it lost the more consistent my swipes grew. The lycan was running out of places to dodge. It put up its paws but I slashed them to ribbons, until it couldn’t stand to brace against the poison and cold steel. 

When the lycan’s paws dropped, I saw my opportunity. I lunged forward, further then I’d dared before. I was completely within range of the monster’s claws. 

I slashed my blade across the lycan’s throat before it had the chance to use them. 

A red river, twin to the one Izaius had opened on the lycan’s brethren, now spilled from this one’s neck. That corner of the school room pooled with blood. I turned away from it before it could reach my boots or splash my robes. I thought that the choir hunter might need my help. 

Izaius required no such thing. He had done away with the remaining lycan in seconds while I had had to dance mine to death. 

“You’re bleeding.” He assessed. 

I held up a hand to my nose. My fingers came away red and dripping. 

“Not as much as he is.” I said. 

Izaius led me out into the hallway. He removed a pouch from his bag and set about stemming the flow of blood. His fingers were soft and delicate, not at all the kind of hands I imagined a hunter of such precise talents to have. They were like a noblewoman’s hands, un-calloused. His fingernails had not so much as a speck of dirt under them. He applied a temporary adhesive around the sliced area, and lay a scrap of clean cloth over it. 

I talked as he worked. “I guess Kohso wasn’t here either.” 

“It was unlikely we were going to be the team to find him.” Izaius admitted, “But with any luck one of the other scouting parties will have already brought Good Brother Kohso home to Odeon Chapel. The night grows short, we ought to be heading back ourselves.” 

“Surely we have a good deal of time left.” I argued. 

Izaius shook his head, “We shouldn’t risk it. Especially with this injury. Beasts would be able to smell it and attack before we could see them coming.” 

“Speaking of seeing, why did you insist on darkness?” I asked him, as he dipped a cotton swab into the jar of adhesive, in preparation to lay another bit of cloth crosswise over the first. 

“Forgive me, Good Brother Yilmarie. In the heat of battle, consideration for your comfort escaped me.” Izaius began, “The Choir spends months teaching their novices to live in complete darkness. We believe it is advantageous, never wanting to let the beasts have an upper hand. There are slews of novices that spend their months in the boughs of the city. Everything is done without the aid of fire, moon or sun. I was of the notion that the Healing Church trained in a similar manner…I realized all too late that it did not.” 

“No apology necessary.” I said as his careful fingers gently pressed the cloth over my skin. “That must have been a difficult couple of months for you.” 

“It was at first.” Izaius chuckled, “I can’t tell you how many times my shin hit the stairs or I would drop a plate of food because I misjudged the distance from tray to table. You learn though, Good Brother Yilmarie. You learn.” 

I nodded. 

Izaius closed his pack, assuring me the bleeding would stop soon. He offered me his hand and I got up off the floor. The staircase was less of an obstacle now that we had candlelight to see by. We went down far faster than we’d come up. The sky was just beginning to lighten as we left the schoolroom. The sky was slowly changing from inky black to darkest navy. The moon’s circuit was all but complete. We headed back to Odeon Chapel empty handed. 

Izaius took point, now that he knew the way. He kept his blades drawn in the event we came across anything that was still roaming the streets. The Vileblood-filled monsters from earlier left me on edge. The sun didn’t bring with it the sense of safety it once had. I no longer trusted it to watch over Yharnam while I slept. 

I noticed black-masked hunters peppering the churchyard before Izaius and I passed through its gates. Our pace quickened, both of us eager to ask the nearest if Kohso had been found. One of them came up to us, just as eager. Her answer made my heart sink. 

The sun was nearly up, and there had been no sign of him anywhere. Things looked grim. Izaius tried to comfort me, offering to brew some tea. I was too tired to think of a way to excuse myself. Instead I let the choir hunter lead me into the kitchen. 

It didn’t seem to matter that the Healing Church kitchen wasn’t his own. Izaius made himself right at home, quickly locating a kettle and stoking a fire. He placed several fresh logs on top of the embers and coaxed new life into the dying flames. His delicate hands searched the shelves, scanning canister labels as he combed through them to find tea. 

Izaius found several varieties, pulling each from its resting place and stacking them on the worn wooden counter tops for later consideration. He considered his choice carefully. Once Izaius had tracked down every last canister he began to unscrew their lids. He sniffed the contents of each one, sometimes quickly snapping the lid back on, other times setting them aside. 

“I detest Earl Grey.” He said, as he went to the extra trouble of not only closing the lid of the jar but replacing it in the cabinet before proceeding to the next. 

“Mmmhm.” I said, staring into the crackling flames. 

He made his selection and pulled two metal mugs from the dish rack. Izaius cut small squares of cheesecloth from a larger roll and tied the dried leaves from the canister onto them. He tied the tops with thread and let the ends dangle over the rim of the cup before covering the bundle inside with a torrent of hot water. 

“Do you take sugar?” He asked me. 

“No.” I replied. “I think it dulls the taste.” 

“You prefer bitter drafts then, Good Brother Yilmarie?” 

I nodded and Izaius chuckled. I couldn’t comprehend what he found so funny. After a few minutes he pulled the two bundles from the cups. He passed the warm drink to me and took no sugar himself. As the sun began to turn the room golden, we warmed ourselves with hot tea. 

“Lavender?” I asked after the first sip. 

“Yes.” Izaius said, “It’s supposed to help with sleeping. I thought we both could use some rest after tonight. The High Octave will no doubt be collecting status reports and forming new plans tomorrow. We’ll need to be ready.” 

I took another sip from the cup. It was nearly empty, I was drinking it faster then I’d thought, the hallmark of a good drink I supposed. When we had both drunk them down to the dregs Izaius collected the cups. He washed them with soap and warm water, dried them with a clean cloth and replaced them. Afterwards he bade me goodnight and we went our separate ways. 

My empty room seemed cold and foreboding. Everything was a confusing jumble. For a brief instant I considered staying up all day and organizing things. The knowledge that the cleanliness would never last, stopped me from making a start. I laid down in my bed, on top of the blankets and scattered ingredients. A mandrake root jabbed me in the back. I pulled it from under me and tossed it onto the floor. Before I closed my eyes I reached into my pocket. Lanthem’s letters were still there. 

I don’t even know if I fell asleep. Everything played back through my head, forwards and reverse in a constant repetition. Reality and paranoia blurred together. Lying in bed felt like riding a carousel, one that refused to stop and let me off. The Lavender in Izaius’ tea made my eyelids heavy and my muscles relaxed but it couldn’t dull the mind. There was nothing to take the edge off your thoughts. There were other church hunters who suffered trouble sleeping. They’d ply you with promises that Laudanum was just the thing for an overactive brain. Kohso had always advised against the stuff, and most of the senior clergy was of a likeminded opinion. If nights like this continued I would have to seek out an opium den and try the stuff myself. 

Then there was a knock at my door and a sense of time came flooding back to me. What had felt like hours actually did turn out to be hours. I half-tripped getting out of bed and stumbled to the door. What had been wrangled into a sensible if unruly bun the other day, now flopped into my face. I was a mess of uncontrollable curls and wrinkled robes. The notion of someone knocking on my door didn’t strike me as strange until I’d pulled it halfway open. The only two people who’d ever knocked were dead and missing. When my sleep deprived eyes took in Vicar Lanthem waiting in the hall, my confusion was further intensified. 

“Head…Vicar Sir?” I said. It was both a greeting and a question. 

“Let me in, Yilmarie.” He said sharply. 

The sympathetic tone he’d adopted on the night of Eros’ death was long gone. I hardly had a second to wedge the door open before he burst through. Lanthem was a good deal larger then I, both in terms of width and height. He bumped his head on the ceiling’s exposed beams upon entrance and knocked over various pots, vials and herbs as he continued inwards. 

“Of course.” I reply dryly, now that he’s already in the room. 

Lanthem spent a few moments looking for a place to sit down. He eyed the bed. I leap into internal panic, knowing that somewhere in the mess of sheets and blankets are the less important letters. Should he find them I’ll have hell to pay. I grab a potted plant a fistful of herbs, moving them off a chair and onto an overcrowded table. I brush the dust and dead leaves onto the floor, and offer it to Lanthem. He accepts readily, clearly uneasy about sharing a bed with an urchin from Hemwick. 

I sit down on the bed strategically, doing the best I can to cover any piece of paper that pokes out. All of them have the potential to be incriminating. When we’re both seated I meet the Head Vicar’s eyes and wait for him to speak. It doesn’t take long; he seems to want to leave immediately. 

“You went out with the search parties last night.” He says. 

I cannot tell if it’s meant as a question or simply the beginning of whatever rambling speech he’s prepared. Either way I make no indication of the claims truth or falseness. 

Lanthem clears his throat and continues. “You’re not to go out with them again boy. I don’t want you having anything to do with the Choir.” 

“But-“ 

Lanthem held up his hand. It was clear this was not intended to be a negotiation. “You’re not suitable for their purposes. They only take the best of the best, and while you’ve done well for yourself with your incense and your…other experiments, that’s not something they’d care about. You overreach Yilmarie, if you think you can be a part of their legions.” 

“Actually the High Octave-“ I said trying to start again. 

“The High Octave shouldn’t be wasting her times on a fool’s errands like this.” Lanthem said. “If you think you’re special just because your plan stopped a few beasts from-“ 

“It was more than a few.” I contested this time being the one to cut him off. 

Lanthem looked like he might slap me. He glared and took a second to gather himself. When he spoke again his words were laced with more anger then before. Even in the small space his voice seemed to echo, encompassing every hint of malice he could muster. 

“Be that as it may, I will not have it go to your head. It was a lucky break, nothing more. The High Octave made a mistake. You should not have been on the search party. You will stay away from the Choir and that will be the end of this. Do you understand me, boy?” 

I didn’t answer. I wouldn’t answer his question until he’d answered one of mine, one that was far more important. “Why did you try to blame the Vileblood beast’s actions on Kohso?” 

The Head Vicar opened his mouth to speak. It was so wide I expected shouting rather than speaking. My hands gripped the sheets in anticipation, I hoped that rooting myself would lend more conviction to my will. I didn’t want to back down just because Lanthem was louder than me. I needed an answer. 

The Head Vicar closed his mouth and leaned back into his chair. The tiny wooden seat looked ridiculous now that it struggled to hold someone who weighed more than a clothespin. “It was for his own good.” 

“Sending a bunch of angry church hunters out in the streets to kill him was for his own good?” I asked. I afterwards added, “Sir?” remembering that Lanthem had a temper and if I wanted my information it would be best if he didn’t lose it. 

“They weren’t looking for him; they were looking for a beast.” Lanthem corrected. “You couldn’t possibly comprehend the complexity of the situation but-“ 

“Try me.” I argued. 

Lanthem sighed. Interruptions were clearly something he preferred in only the hypocritical sense. It was fine when he did it, but if someone else had the nerve it was a nuisance. 

“But,” He continued, “There are reasons that he needed to leave the city. If all had gone as planned and your ill-fated friend hadn’t caused a stir in Old Yharnam there would’ve been no cause for the distraction. Good Executioners sacrificed their lives to set up that Vileblood nonsense, all so that Kohso could slip away. He’s supposed to stay missing Yilmarie. For his own good.” 

“So you know where he is? He’s alive?” I asked. 

Lanthem got up from the chair, causing it to wobble. “Do not go looking for him.” He sighed, “And stay away from the Choir. That’s all you need do Yilmarie, and you can save yourself another Old Yharnam disaster.” 

He strode towards the door, closing the distance in a single step, and dragging a bushel of dried fig leaves along with him. He shook his foot the way one would if they stepped in shit, knocking the leaves aside and sending bits of them scattering in every direction. 

We were both rather shocked to open the door, and discover an equally astonished Izaius holding a tray in one hand, the other poised to knock. Izaius blinked and then dropped his hand, dipping into the best bow he could manage with the cumbersome tray. 

“Head Vicar Lanthem and Good Brother Yilmarie, salutations.” He said, “I hope I am not interrupting.” 

“I was just leaving.” Lanthem informed, “And you should be too. Don’t you have Choir duties to attend, Novice….” 

“Izaius, my good Head Vicar, sir.” Izaius replied, “And yes, the High Octave sent me to fetch good Brother Yilmarie. I thought he might have want of breakfast before speaking with her.” 

“How very considerate of you.” Lanthem replied, “But I’m afraid Yilmarie won’t be taking any visitors today. He has work to do.” 

Izaius adjusted his grip on the tray and fixed Vicar Lanthem with a cold stare. “I’m afraid I simply must seem him. The High Octave need speak with him and she is the final authority. I will complete my task and retrieve him for her, you can be sure of that.” 

Izaius’ infinite politeness was, as my blades; dipped in poison. I’d never seen Lanthem stand aside for anyone, but he had not missed the threat woven into Izaius’ words. Though he was but a novice Izaius had no intention of being told what to do by a Vicar. By the senior Vicar, no less. It was hard for me to quantify how he’d so readily taken my leadership the night previous. 

“Thank you, Good Head Vicar.” Izaius said smiling as he passed by Lanthem and into my room. He set the tray down on the chair that the Vicar had just occupied. He brushed his hands together, as though clearing dirt off them and looked around the room. “Sorry about that.” 

“No need to apologize!” I exclaimed, I was astounded he’d been able to dispel Lanthem so easily. “I’ve never seen him dissuaded like that.” 

“Oh?” Izaius asked, “Well no matter. I’ve brought breakfast. If you wouldn’t mind being quick about it, the High Octave does want to you see you. It is of some urgency, I know you won’t have noticed it yet, being as you haven’t left your room; but most of the Choir members are rather on edge today. Something’s stirring, I can’t tell what it is, Good Brother Yilmarie, but it’s bad. I know that much.” 

I didn’t know what to make of Izaius’ warning, so I turned to breakfast. Izaius lifted the lid off the tray to reveal a slice of cake alongside a cup of tea and some sausages. Surely, it was a more eclectic breakfast then I was accustomed too. 

“How else do you think we stay so sweet?” Izaius returned, “Actually no. When I was young I had a good bit of trouble finishing meals. My father was of the type who wouldn’t let you have a sweet until you’d cleaned your plate. My mother, however sympathized with my small stomach and hopeless cause, thus she began to serve the dessert I was denied as breakfast instead. I’ve eaten sweets every morning since, though I can fetch something else if you’d rather.” 

I took a forkful of cake and shook my head, “Don’t bother.” I told him, “It’s perfect.” 

As I ate, Izaius continued to glance around the room. I had always fancied myself a fast eater, but as I began to put down breakfast Izaius’ fingers couldn’t help but wander. First he simply collected up the leaves that Lanthem’s boots had scattered, but by and by he began to organize things on the table as well. He made small piles and tried to group together similar things. He would stop and read anything that was labeled before seeking an appropriate place for it. 

“You don’t have to do that.” I said slurping down the last of the tea, “I’ll get around to it.” 

“Sorry, Good Brother Yilmarie.” Izaius apologized quickly setting down the quartz crystal he’d picked up. “Bad habit of mine.” 

“It’s probably a good habit.” I said, setting the cup back in its saucer and piling the dirty dishes together, “It would be nice if I suffered the same.” 

He chuckled. 

“I’m finished. We can go now.” I informed. 

Izaius nodded and we headed upstairs. This was the fastest I could remember disobeying a direct order from the Head Vicar. Usually I gave the rules a few hours to settle in before breaking them, but the whole staying away from the Choir thing wasn’t going to happen. The Choir had sought me out, and it wouldn’t do to deny them. If a choir novice could intimidate our most senior clergymen who was I to resist the request of its commanding officer? 

She was not in Lanthem’s quarters today. The High Octave was seated on a stone bench in one of the prayer courtyards. The courtyard was planted with lilies and lavender and the strange cold blood flowers that had only just started to spring up when the hunt began. She blended in well with the abundance of white blooms. I supposed that really we all did. Nearly everything in Odeon Chapel was lily-white. 

Izaius and I came down the pebble path that led to her. We stopped a few feet before we reached her and bowed. She got up and returned the gesture. There was no additional bench for Izaius and I to be seated on, but the choir novice made himself at home on a patch of grass. The dew-dappled blades bent before him. I didn’t wish to remain standing for the rest of my encounter with the High Octave so I imitated Izaius and sat down as well. 

“Thank you for coming to see me.” The High Octave said. 

“You’re welcome.” I replied. 

“No doubt you’re curious as to why I’ve sent for you.” She continued. 

I nodded. 

“Izaius told me he rather enjoyed having you for a partner during the search party. The two of you worked quite well together, if I’m too understand things. You stayed out of the way and searched grounds we would not have considered. You came away with only a scratch, which is impressive on any hunt, let alone a venture into unfamiliar territory.” 

“That was really more of Izaius’ doing.” I said, “He suggested going to places Kohso would’ve usually avoided, figuring we should try and cover all we could.” 

“He has a way with smart ideas like that.” The High Octave agreed, “But you knew the terrain. You charted the course, and what’s more you were able to assist in battle. There is something of a strategist in you, Yilmarie. It is wasted here.” 

Izaius nodded his agreement. 

“I know you must be eager to continue the search for your friend, but we combed every corner of Yharnam, thrice over last night.” She said, “I think you’ll agree that he is no longer in the city.” 

Especially factoring the bits I had gleaned from Vicar Lanthem’s odd intrusion this morning I agreed her claims were true. Lanthem had wanted Kohso out of the city, and it seemed this goal had been accomplished. I was yet to be sure as to the reason for it, but the disappearance had been an intentional one. “Yes I think that’s correct.” I said. 

“That is why I wish you to come away with us.” The High Octave said, “We’re already going to be taking another novice from Odeon Chapel with us, you might know him? Brother Minimus?” 

“Yes. I know him.” I replied, trying to keep the contempt out of my voice. 

“Why shouldn’t you come too then? We could always use someone with wits like yours. You’ll be able to tell our scouting parties about your friend. I could have every Choir Hunter in my legions keep an eye out for him when on the hunt. He would surely be uncovered before long.” She said. 

“Yes do come with us, good Brother Yilmarie!” Izaius added enthusiastically, “You’re going to love Yhar’Ghul. It’s marvelous. I’ll return the favor and show you all the best places to hunt. You’ll come to know it just as well as Yharnam.” 

I wasn’t able to answer them at first. I was so surprised that the offer had even been extended I wasn’t quite sure how to react. Izaius kept talking, listing off comparisons between the two cities. I caught only small snatches of it, more focused on assessing the offer set before me then working out the details. The whole garden seemed to melt away as I turned the situation around in my head. 

“Yilmarie?” The High Octave asked. 

“Sorry.” I said trying to quiet my thoughts and pay attention, “I’m listening.” 

She chuckled, “It’s alright. I’m sure it’s a lot to take in. I didn’t want to rush you but we seem to have worn out our welcome. Vicar Lanthem’s hospitality is waning.” 

“He’s never been particularly fond of anyone from Hemwick.” I said. 

“We have lots of them in Yhar’Ghul.” She replied. “We have Choir members from all over, there’s even one or two who claim Cainhurst ancestry. The caps we wear lessen the importance of roots. If no one can see where you’re from they tend to only care about where you’re going.” 

“I’m not sure I’m ready for a mask just yet.” I said. As much as I could empathize with the High Octave’s perspective I valued my identity. I didn’t want to disappear into the anonymity of the Choir. 

They both chuckled. 

“It’s not as much of a requirement as you’d think.” Izaius said, “Most of us don’t wear them around Yhar’Ghul. It’s just like any hat really, people will take them on or off at will. It’s just when we travel we prefer to look as one. Present a united front.” 

“It’s not like we’d force a uniform on you.” The High Octave said, “Our helms aren’t melted to our faces; like Vilebloods. Even the robe stylization really doesn’t matter. In Yhar’Ghul there are plenty of variations. It is again as Izaius said, when abroad we prefer to seem as one. Many do choose to keep their caps on however.” 

I nodded, staring down at the grass rather than meeting the eyes of the two Choir members. As I turned the situation over in my head I plucked blades one by one and piled them in the folds of my robe. I stacked them up the same as I stacked the pros and cons of the High Octave’s offer. The path I needed to take quickly became clear. I needed to find Kohso no matter the cost, wherever I must go and whatever it might take. He was the last friend I had left. What the choir members said was true, there was nothing left for me here. 

With the Choir’s resources I might be able to find him yet. 

“Alright.” I said. “Take me to Yhar’Ghul with you.” 

“Excellent.” The High Octave smiled, “Pack your things and be ready to leave as soon as you can. We’ll be departing shortly. Izaius will lend you his aid should you need it.” 

And just like that it was settled. The Choirs plans were put in motion and I went back to my room to pack my life into bags and take it with me. Lanthem loomed over Izaius and I as we debated over what to take. He didn’t say anything but he made his disdain known all the same. Even if he had said something he wouldn’t have been able to stop us. 

“Do you mind if I fold these?” Izaius asked, indicating a pile of clothes that I’d decided to take with me. The thick fabric church robes were made of never seemed to wrinkle, so I didn’t see the point of storing them carefully. I tended to just shove them all into the nearest drawer. 

“Of course.” I said. 

I wasn’t sure if I needed to bring any of my apothecary supplies with me. Who knew what kind of herbs grew in Yhar’Ghul? I had asked Izaius but plants didn’t seem to be his area of expertise. The High Octave had said I would have full use of the Choir’s resources and I assumed that meant their coffers too. If Yhar’Ghul didn’t grow what I needed I could have it shipped in. It would be best not to get dried leaves mixed into all my other things anyway. 

I took some of my beakers and vials, pots and burners, the tools of the trade I relied on rather heavily. New ones could be purchased, but there was nothing like a familiar tool. I knew the quirks of the equipment and preferred to work with them rather than adjust to new ones. There would be enough new things in Yharnam without having to re-outfit myself. 

“Need a hand?” Izaius asked as I began to shoulder the bags I’d packed. 

“I’ve got it.” I insisted. I was already debating repacking things. If I had to walk to Yhar’Ghul weighed down like this, there was no way I’d make it. 

Izaius chuckled and took the bulkiest bag from me anyway, “It wouldn’t do to have you expire before we arrive.” 

“Thank you.” I said, and passed him another parcel. He took it eagerly. We went upstairs, Lanthem following behind us like a shadow. The whole atrium was full of Choir hunters readying themselves for the journey back to Yhar’Ghul. Somewhere in the mess was Minimus, and I kept an eye out for him. I didn’t want to have to travel next to the novice for the entire trip. He’d find some way of jeopardizing my new position. 

“We don’t have to carry them the whole way.” Izaius informed, readjusting the pack he carried. “There’ll be a cart outside. All the bags go in, unless you have something breakable that’s best kept in hand. Is any of your equipment delicate?” 

“Somewhat.” I said. 

“No matter then.” Izaius said with a wide smile, “I’ve got the endurance for it.” 

“You don’t have to-“ 

He cut me off, “Don’t worry about it, Good Brother Yilmarie. I’m happy to assist.” 

Izaius’ definition of far and my definition of far were worlds apart. Our levels of endurance were likewise. He seemed inexhaustible, but I was winded by the time we got to the city limits. The church gave us a good send off, with lots of well wishes. I didn’t bother to pay it much mind. It’s not as though anyone in the crowd would be waving handkerchiefs and shedding tears due to my departure. Minimus had a whole entourage he got caught up in, everyone wanting their chance to say good bye to the church’s favored son. I’m sure much of it was a way for them to send off Kohso too, since they held similar sway amongst the novices. 

“This is the furthest I’ve ever been.” I panted to Izaius as we strolled past the last familiar statue. I was headed into the unknown, but the Choir was largely undaunted. They had sent some scouts out ahead of us, but by and large they weren’t worried. In their sizes they shouldn’t be. Any beast that attacked a hunting party this large was daft, and easily dealt with. 

“Oh.” Izaius said, a hint of sadness in his tone. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked. 

“I’m afraid you’re going to be rather worn out by journey’s end. We’ve barely got going.” He informed. 

“It’s always farther away than you think.” I said, in an effort to hide my apprehension and keep things lighthearted. “Do you have any tricks to pass the time?” 

He grinned. “Of course, good Brother Yilmarie. Despite the painted picture of austere no nonsense hunters, we of the Choir are quite a merry band when traveling. There are sure to be songs and a few of us have an instrument. I’ve been known to whistle myself.” 

I found whistling to be supremely irritating but I didn’t want to lessen his spirits. “That sounds nice.” 

“Oh but best of all are the storytellers. They do all the traditional hunter legends, and some of our brothers and sisters have mastered the art.” He explained. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard any of these legends.” I admitted. “The only stories told in church were the factual ones, about Ludwig and Lawrence. I always got the two of them mixed up in any case, so many L’s.” 

Izaius looked shocked. “You mean you’ve never heard of Hari Harel?” 

I shook my head at the unfamiliar name. Its roots didn’t seem to come from anywhere in Yharnam, perhaps not even in England. The syllables seemed strangely musical when spoken, and I had the private hope that Izaius would say them again. They were much like a charm, or a wind chime. 

“What a crime!” Izaius declared. He was still speaking to me but now he scanned the seas of passing hunters. “None of them? Not one tale?” 

I shook my head. 

“Hari Harel has his origins in your fine city too.” Izaius scoffed as he continued to scan the masks of the other Choir members. 

“To this person’s credit, it’s not as though I went looking for stories. Kohso spent time in the libraries pouring over texts, but my reading was confined much more to the scientific. I had almost no use for fiction, and hated being dragged to the theater for dull plays. The characters are all so predictable.” 

“But isn’t that what makes it fun?” Izaius chuckled, “You have foreknowledge into the story world that the other characters don’t. You can see things before they happen. Alas you can’t ever warn the bold hero that they’re walking into a trap but you do know. It must be like the great Amygdalas, or even perhaps the mysterious Odeon, good Brother Yilmarie. They can look upon us, but we cannot see them.” 

I shifted the weight of my pack as his uncomfortable sentiment settled on my shoulders. I had no desire to play god. “I suppose.” I said. 

“Suppose all you want, but you cannot deny they pass the time. If I could just locate one of my good kinsman, I shall get them to tell you a tale as we walk. Hari Harel might lighten your load.” Izaius said. He quickened his pace, and all at once started to become loss in the sea of Choir cloaks. Just as he seemed to be slipping into the void he turned back, “Stay right there. I’ll return shortly.” 

It was something new and altogether ominous to be amongst a sea of new people. Each was faceless to me, as they wore their masks and marched along. The masks made them so unspeakably otherworldly. They acted the same as a crowd of church hunters, joking and laughing with one another. It was not any different than the cacophony roused by a hunting party, but it felt so much stranger. You couldn’t see their eyes catch the light. Laughter was muffled into sinister echoing behind the metal masks. No one raised their eyebrows in surprise or squinted as they tried to understand. Everyone was awash in a sea of sameness. I was the only unmasked one. 

I didn’t know if them taking their masks off or me putting one on would’ve made the situation better. It was hard to wager a guess with things like this. I kept on walking at the same speed, trying to stay between the two hunters I supposed I’d started by. One was slightly shorter than the other, and I was shorter than them both. The Choir hunters both had dark skin, much darker than mine. It stood out beautifully against their white robes, and was to me a personal godsend as they were an easy mark to stick with in the sea of pale on pale on pale. 

“I brought back the best!” Izaius declared, suddenly popping up alongside me. 

He had come back arm in arm with another hunter. She was shorter than even me, and a great deal smaller than the rest of the Choir members. I supposed she was very young, which seemed odd to me. Typically, it had been the elders who told us stories, ones who had been hearing these stories all their lives. A youth was sure to leave out details. 

“I’d like for you to meet our good Lady Calliban.” Izaius said. 

“Callie. Please.” She corrected. 

“I’m Yilmarie.” I said offering her my hand. We shook in the way of denizens as opposed to hunters. I didn’t know why I had done something so foreign but nothing about this day seemed traditional. Why should I stand to have our greetings be? 

“She’s simply the best.” Izaius praised, “I’m pretty sure the High Octave recruited her on her ability to tell a tale alone.” 

There was a sudden flare of jealousy. It made sense of course that Izaius would have his friends throughout the choir, but when he’d been paired up with me I had the false feeling it was because we were similar. Beyond Kohso and Eros, I didn’t enjoy the church’s company and figured he thought the same of the Choir. The fact that he had friends he praised so readily turned my stomach. It was a mix of envy and sorrow, if only Kohso could’ve been at my side. Perhaps I would not have been so volatile. 

“He’s all talk.” Callie said, “I haven’t learned half so many stories as Carmello has, and I can’t sing half as well. He also plays the lute. Chief bard he was you know, and one time he was-“ 

Izaius cleared his throat, “I know you’re full of stories my good kinsman, but perhaps save the ones of drunken clergy in taverns for another time? We want to make a good impression on our new guest.” 

“Of course.” She said, dipping her head in a bow, “My apologies.” 

“None necessary.” I assured her, “It seemed like it would’ve been a humorous one.” 

“Funny though it may have been we have more pressing matters.” Izaius declared, “Good Brother Yilmarie, for all his strength has one serious flaw. We must now correct that of course. Won’t you tell us a tale of Hari Harel?” 

“Which one hasn’t he heard?” She asked, falling in beside us and quickly adapting her pace to our own. 

“I haven’t heard of him. At all.” I said matter-of-fact. 

Callie made a strange noise. It took me a moment to realize it was a gasp, caught behind the metallic mask it hadn’t sounded human. “Not even Hari Harel and the Constables? But you’re from Yharnam! You must know it!” 

I shook my head. 

“You see why I sent for you. No one knows the stories of Hari Harel better then you.” Izaius said. 

“Now I can agree you made the right call.” Callie agreed dipping her head towards the choir novice. “Shall we fetch the other new novice and have him listen in as well?” 

Izaius glanced at me before answering her. If my face had made any indication of my distaste for Minimus’ company, I was unaware of it. All the same the choir novice had noticed and quickly deterred the invitation. “Let’s have it just be us. Go on Callie, and lay it on thick.” 

She cleared her throat before beginning, letting the rhythm of bouncing packs and rolling cart wheels carry over her. She seemed to draw in the whole world as she inhaled and upon exhalation it came back more embellished. As she spoke, what Izaius had said was proven true. My feet did feel less tired, and the journey seemed more possible and less arduous then before. 

“In the days when the hunt was just beginning all was confusion. Man could not tell what had cause for the infection. Everyone was trying to escape it, cure it and prevent it all at once. In every crowd that has ever been, there are those who lead and those who follow. The mayor of the good city of Yharnam was a follower placed in a leader’s role. As such he did not perform his task well.” 

She scanned our faces, leaning past Izaius to make sure I was paying attention as she continued. 

“The denizens all came to the mayor.” Callie continued. “Help us!” they said, “For we are not strong and cannot fight the beasts. We are not swift and cannot out run the beasts. We are not rich and cannot procure medicine to stave off beast-hood ourselves.” 

When she spoke for the denizens she used an outrageously high-pitched voice that made Izaius chuckle. More of our traveling companions noticed a story being tolled, and hushed their conversations. They leaned in to listen. 

“They mayor did not know what to do. He was only an elected official, and could not handle this by himself. He decided to do what all followers made leaders do, and get someone else to fix the problem for him. The mayor called upon seven lords, asking them each to send seven sons to form a brigade and protect the town. Six of the seven lords were ready and willing. They chose their strongest or smartest son and sent him forward brilliantly outfitted in tailored constables’ garb. The six sons had strong weapons of cold rolled steel, with jeweled handles and leather wrapped pommels. They had thick shields to hide behind.” 

All was quiet now as Callie drew her crowd into the story. 

“But as for the seventh lord, he was a selfish man. He did not wish to send his son, for he thought the beasts a pauper’s problem and not worth spilling blue blood over. Instead of sending his son, he set a trap on the streets 

Now Hari Harel was not the son of a lord. He was not the son of a merchant or a clergyman or a mayor. Hari Harel was the son of a drunkard, and that’s all that could be said for his family. His mother hadn’t survived his birth and his father had blamed him for killing her. For as long as he could remember Hari Harel had been hungry. His father rarely found work, so their bellies rarely found food. 

It was worse now that the attacks had begun. Hari Harel couldn’t rely on merchants turning away from their wares, for no merchants came out to sell. He could not rely on bakers tossing out their burnt bread, they ate it themselves for fear of stiffer rationing. Hari Harel could not even rely on lords leaving cafes without finishing their lunches, for they were not spending any time outdoors at all now. His stomach was more empty then it had ever been before. 

The seventh lord knew that some of his citizens were surely feeling the effects of rationing, and he set his nefarious plot. The lord disguised himself as a baker and set a magnificent plum pie on his windowsill, which was open to those walking by along the street. Hari Harel happened to be coming by, and his nostrils were quick to find an easy meal. 

His eyes lighted on the pie. The filling, red and bubbling spilled onto the woven gold pastry crust. His stomach growled. 

“Blimey.” Said Hari Harel, “Poor ‘elpless pie left about on the sill. Cryin’ shame if somethin’ were to ‘appen to it. 

The words hadn’t even fully left his mouth before he reached for the pie. The seventh lord knew it would be coming, and caught Hari Harel by the wrist. He threatened to cut off his hand for thieving if the boy didn’t do as told. 

Hari Harel wasn’t worried about his hand, nor was he worried about the seventh lord’s ominous command. All that concerned him was the pie, which had tragically fallen to the floor when the seventh lord pulled him in through the window. He tried to get his hand to it, find himself a steaming sugared plum or a scrap of crust, but the seventh lord quickly pulled him away. 

Hari Harel was not given a new constable outfit. Clothes that hadn’t fit any of the lord’s other sons or their servant’s sons were handed off to him. They were untailored and did not fit Hari Harel either. He was not given a shining sword or a strong shield. The seventh lord didn’t want to give him anything at all, but the servants took pity on the poor boy and smuggled him a meat cleaver and a pot lid. 

When the six lord’s sons and Hari Harel met with the mayor everyone regarded him strangely. He held a pot lid as boldly as any shield, and did not seem at all phased by the lack of reach the cleaver provided. The mayor asked him if he was sure he wanted to wear this, and whether or not everything was alright. 

“To be ‘onest ser, I’m awful ‘ungry.” Hari Harel replied. 

The mayor and the rest of the lords laughed. They did not see the boy’s hunger as an immediate problem. Lords never do. So the patrol of constables was sent out with Hari Harel’s stomach growling. 

“What garish weapons.” Said the first lord. 

“What horrible clothes.” Said the second. 

“And what a noise he makes.” Said the third. 

Hari Harel ignored them all, staying alert on the streets for any signs of a nearby meal. 

“It is rather loud.” Agreed the fourth. 

“It shakes the whole town.” Commented the fifth. 

“It’s rather like a beast.” Remarked the sixth. 

The sixth lord had spoken the truth, though he didn’t know it. As the six lords and Hari Harel continued to patrol the Yharnam streets, they were stalked by a snarling beast. Some say it was a cleverly concealed cleric beast. Others insist it was a greatwolf. Some even postulate that it was one of the great blackened hellhounds whose pointy ears and stumpy tales are only seen across the Black Salt Sea. Either way none of the lords got a look at it before it got a look at them. 

“Won’t you stop that noise?” Asked the first lord. 

“It’s really distracting.” Sighed the second. 

“And really annoying.” Added the third. 

“You’ll wake the whole town.” Commented the fourth. 

“And we’ll get in trouble for it.” Said the fifth. 

There was a moment of silence as they all looked around for the sixth lord. Hari Harel’s stomach growled again. 

“Your stomach must have chased him off.” Said the first lord. 

“I don’t blame him.” Said the second. 

“Couldn’t stand it myself.” Agreed the third. 

“Nor I.” Added the fourth. 

There was another silence as they waited for the fifth lord, but he was not to be heard or seen either. The four remaining lords raised their shields and drew their swords. They fanned out to search the bushes. Their fine heeled boots clicked as they cut across the cobblestones, and the beast perked up its ears. Hari Harel stayed in the street. His stomach growled yet again. 

“Can’t you be quiet?” Asked the first. 

“I can hear you all the way over here!” declared the second. 

“And I here.” Agreed the third. 

There was no reply from the fourth. By now the three lords didn’t bother looking. Hari Harel’s stomach growled again, in time with the hidden beast’s snarl. It rattled the iron gates and caused a flock of birds to vacate the branches of their tree. 

“Blimey.” Said Hari Harel. “Didn’t know I was that bad.” 

“We knew.” Said the first lord. 

“You’re insufferable.” Muttered the second. 

There was no reply from the third. Hari Harel stayed in the middle of the street but the two lords had gotten a sense of something amiss. They both decided to make a run for it. Hari Harel heard heavy footsteps coming towards him. 

“Blimey.” Said Hari Harel, “Is that the fishmonger?” 

“It’s the beast you idiot!” Shouted the first lord. 

His fleeing was cut short, as the beast finally leapt from the shadows, landing on the first lord and ripping him to pieces. 

All Hari Harel saw was an opportunity. He charged towards the beast, stomach snarling. Hari Harel opened his mouth as wide as he could manage, he seemed to suck in the whole world. His jaws unhinged like a snake’s. The beast came galloping towards him, it’s stomach weighed down by the six lords was swollen and dragged the ground. The beast had killed many humans, but never had it come across someone like Hari Harel. 

Hari Harel wasn’t afraid. He was hungry. 

When the beast leaped at him, he swallowed it, eclipsing the entire beast and downing it in a single gulp. Hari Harel returned to the mayor triumphant, though unsure what exactly everyone around him was celebrating. 

“That was amazing lad!” They mayor said, “You’ve saved the town!” 

“Blimey!” Said Hari Harel, “Thought all I did was ‘ave a meal.” 

The Choir Hunters laughter rang out loud and clear, banishing the silence they’d preserved to hear the story. I smiled and found myself applauding Callie’s efforts. She bowed to her adoring fans, having performed all parts of the story beautifully. Hari Harel was hardly the kind of hero Sister Veera would have praised and the ridiculous notion of swallowing a beast whole was sure to have turned up her nose, so naturally I loved it. 

“It will be the first of many tales to come.” Izaius promised me. “For the legend of Hari Harel is far from over. Let’s have another one then!” 

Callie shook her head, “One’s been plenty. In any case my throat’s dry and my breath is short. You wouldn’t want to wear out your storyteller before journey’s end.” 

He chuckled. “Very well.” 

Callie turned to me, “You did like it then?” she asked. 

“Oh yes, very much.” I assured her. “And I’ve never heard anyone do voices like that before. There was a street barker, a showman back in Yharnam who attempted things of a similar sort but he didn’t manage as well as you have. You’re as skilled as Izaius had promised.” 

She giggled and jumped for joy, two things I had never wagered I’d see a Choir Hunter do. They were not so dignified as they seemed, just as Izaius assured me. We marched on through the night. Sometimes I’d catch a snippet of a story as a group of more energized hunters overtook us, but Izaius and I did not follow after them. Callie elected to stay with us, keeping pace and, much to my embarrassment carrying one of my bags herself. 

When we finally stopped to rest I was exhausted. I half-heartedly offered to help as the Choir Hunters began to pitch tents and make camp, but Izaius waved me off. He didn’t expect equal contribution on my part, and I was grateful. I closed weary eyes. 

“Tired already?” 

I blinked wearily, and discovered Minimus’ face looming over me. “We walked all night didn’t we?” I muttered back drowsily. 

“The Choir’s made a mistake you know.” Minimus informed, “Taking along someone like you. They’re going to realize it sooner or later and send you back to the Chapel. You’ve been making friends rather quickly I’ll grant you, but you seem to lose them just as swiftly. Don’t think I’ll be letting anyone forget that.” 

“Let me alone.” I muttered, I was far too tired to be able to cope with his condensing mannerisms. 

“Oh no.” Minimus said, “I’ll not have you spoiling this for me. If you can’t keep up they’ll leave you behind, as they were meant to. I’m going to make sure you don’t have the chance to rest. You won’t last without your strength, and if your size is anything to go by you haven’t much of that to spare.” 

I gritted my teeth and tried to ignore him. He droned on and on, and I began to fear his plan might have its merits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	5. The Sailor's Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We return to Kohso and finds out what the sailors have in store for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always please let me know what you think, I love getting feedback from readers!

The world was swaying when I woke up, slowly shifting from side to side. Everything came back in foggy fragments just like when I’d been shot up with sedative by Sig. My arms and legs ached. It felt like I was lying down wrong. There seemed to be the oversized hands of some great creature closing in around me; a pattern of clear visibility next to blocked space. 

“Amygdala?” I asked, “I didn’t think it was my time.” 

I expected to suddenly be looking up into the many-eyed face of a god. Instead, as things started to snap into focus, I realized that what I’d thought were fingers were just the bars of a cage. My muscles were sore because they had been stretched away from me, secured with heavy cuffs. Cage bars pressed into me from behind, they’d bruised my back and neck. 

It took me the longest time to account for the swaying, but once I had things made sense. I was on some kind of ship. The sailors I’d let lead me away had captured me. To what end I didn’t know, but I got the sickening sense I wasn’t going to like their reasoning. 

I couldn’t even bring my hands together; they were secured to opposite sides of the cage, but I elected to pray anyway. Odeon could forgive this, that I was sure. I believe it was a Sunday in any case, where we were supposed to listen to one of Vicar Lanthem’s services. I missed him. His steady words and gentle tone could’ve made a situation like this a bit more bearable. I tried to imagine what he would’ve said, but he was of a different mind then me. Our thoughts refused to speak the same language. Vicar Lanthem would’ve advised prayer in any case; it was nearly always his first suggestion. 

“Formless Odeon, hear my words.” I began. 

“You’re praying to the wrong god.” The response was instant. 

I blinked my eyes, trying to turn my head and see where the voice could’ve spoken from. I had such a limited range of motion and the place I was chained was dark. It seemed silly but I honestly started to perceive a god, an ancient one was near. They didn’t sound the way they had in my head when I read their words recorded in the Ancient Texts. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t see you.” I apologized, “Which of the Ancient Ones are you? The great Mother Kos? Eriebatas of the Cosmos?” 

There was a chuckle. It was not deep and booming and full of jovial indifference; the kind that laughed with you. This was the kind of laughter that pierced and poked, ripping through your skin to find your insecurities only to pull them out and wave them before the world. 

“I am god to you alone, church boy.” 

“A personal deity?” I asked. 

There was another cruel chuckle. In a flash of light, the source of the voice was revealed. She wasn’t a god at all. As light spilled in from above us and squeaking boots descended the ladder to the brig, my eyes focused on the laughing girl. 

She was chained, which was the first and only sign I needed to confirm her mortality. No one could chain a god. Her hair was silver-white and bespoke elegance and nobility even with the sporadically chopped cut she wore it in. I’d never seen a girl with hair cut so wildly before, but then again I’d never seen a girl dressed the way she was either. She didn’t wear much of anything, her pants, and it was generous to call them pants at all, only covered the smallest portions of her legs. Her shirt, similarly was more like a wrapped bandage around her chest then a garment. The sailors must have stolen her clothing, the nerve of those brutes. I found myself looking downwards, to check for myself. I was still in my full church robes. Despite the layers of fabric, I was quite cold. With how little she wore surely she was going mad. 

“Don’t be afraid good lady.” I said, “I won’t let those brigands hurt you.” 

There was yet another laugh, but this one did not come from the captive woman. 

“Boy have you lost your mind?” a man’s voice asked. This was surely one of the sailors from the night before. Gone was the respect they’d woven into their words. There was no more of the jovial “brother hunters”. I’d been preyed upon and my hunter had come to gloat. “That thing is neither good nor a lady. You’re supposed to be a hunter; can’t you recognize a monster when it’s right in front of you?” 

“I am not a monster!” She snapped at the sailor. 

“And I am not a fool.” He returned. 

They continued to argue with one another as my clouded mind raced to put things into order. I thought of Cassius and realized the sailor was right. The captive woman was a Vileblood, surely. I was chained in the same cage as a monster, and her chain was far longer than mine. 

“What are you playing at here?” I interrupted, trying to keep my voice even while I spoke to the sailor. “Unchain me, and let me out.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The sailor said shaking his head. “You see you hunters have caused no small bit of trouble for us. You concentrate yourselves on land, no one bothering to keep the seas clear. We lost so many ships before the Prestwick Company set to work. They tasked fair honest men like myself with rounding up hunters and taking them to sea. Call it involuntary volunteering, or drafting, whatever suits you.” 

“Sounds a lot like slavery to me.” I said. 

The sailor shrugged, “Pays well enough. Suppose you could call it that. Either way the Prestwick Company’s hunters started to make the seas safe once more. They’ve put out bigger bounties since. Seems that the Executioners are willing to pay good money for anyone who can get them live Vilebloods. These things were supposed to be hard to capture, but as it turns their much harder to transport. I hate to expend lives, boy, I really do, but we discovered that without a steady supply of throats to bite the girl will go mad, and likely kill us all. Bottom line is they’ll pay us more for her then they will for you.” 

So I was to be a ration. 

“You’d preserve the life of a Vileblood over that of a hunter? I’ve defended your cities I’ve-“ 

“Save it boy.” The sailor barked, “My city is the sea. I’ve only come down to make sure you ain’t dead before it’s ready to eat you.” 

“I’m not an It.” She spat again. 

The sailor ignored her entirely and pushed the neck of a bottle through the bars of the cage, resting it against my lips. “Drink up boy. You need it.” 

It didn’t smell of whiskey or rum, but I expected something either drugged or nefarious. I opened my mouth to protest, and all the sailor did was tilt the bottom of the bottle upwards. Stale water flooded my mouth. I realized to late that there wasn’t a good way to bargain when your enemy had all the advantages. 

“There’s a good lad.” The sailor said. “We’ll keep you breathing until its ready for you.” 

He made me drain the whole bottle, I was sputtering and coughing trying to swallow it all. Water soaked the front of my robes, the overflow catching the cold and turning up the chill. His task completed the sailor climbed the ladder and left the two of us once more in darkness. 

I didn’t know how to continue a conversation with this woman now that I knew she was going to be my killer. The whole situation wasn’t worth discussing. The cuffs and cage were secure. I was not full of clever tricks like Eros and Yilmarie. If I had them by my side survival was feasible, but without them I could not fathom a way out. 

I resumed my prayers, though none were committed to the Vileblood. She was no god of mine. I continued to talk with Odeon. 

“Would you quit it?” She growled at me. 

I shook my head, not caring if she could see me or not. Surely monsters like her were as monsters in the streets. Both could see in the dark. 

I heard the shifting links of chain, she was coming closer. “Stop it.” 

“Why?” I asked, “Does it make it easier for you to kill your victims without the god’s guilt weighing on you? What would a creature like you know about the Ancient Ones?” 

“More than you, church boy.” She said. 

“It’s Kohso.” I informed and then added, “Vileblood.” 

“Kohso?” She mused, “Do you presume to connect yourself to Kos?” 

“I presume nothing.” I returned, “It’s not as if I chose my name.” 

“I chose mine.” She contested, “And you will call me by it or rue the day, church boy. If you presume to call me “it” like that loathsome boatman, I will slay you out of spite rather than need.” 

“Well what is your name then?” I asked. 

“Fwahe.” She replied. 

The foreign sound made no sense to me. It didn’t fit together like a proper church given name. Yilmarie might have been able to trace its roots and get some insight into where the strange girl had come from, but that was beyond my grasp. 

“I can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you Fwahe, but at least we know each other now.” I said. 

“You and I do not know each other.” She asserted. 

As she spoke my eyes began to adjust to the darkness. I could see her more clearly now. She hadn’t taken an attacker’s position, she had only shifted to sit a bit closer to me. Whereas I was held against the bars, arms and legs spread, she had but one chain. It connected to a collar around her neck, and gave her free run of the cage. Our roles were clear. I was secured so I’d be easier to devour, she was more free as to do whatever devouring was required. 

“That is true.” I agreed, “But considering you’re going to eat me I don’t really think there’s much reason for us to become acquainted.” 

“I do not want to eat you, church boy,” she said, and was about to continue her reasoning, but I decided to cut in. 

“I just told you, my name is Kohso. Have you already forgotten?” 

She corrected herself, “I might not want to eat you, church boy. It’s the one who’s trapped me here that my stomach aches for. I will rend him limb from limb and leave his rotting corpse for figurehead.” 

I gulped. “I admit, I’ve no fondness for him either but don’t you think that’s a bit-“ 

“No. I am not soft like you church boy. I do not spare those who’ve wronged me. I’ve other tasks to complete and the boatman keeps me from them.” 

She did not sound like the kind of person who could be convinced otherwise. Her eyes were the worst part of her, I noticed them now as they bore into me. One was light and the other dark. I wasn’t sure if this was because of the shadowy conditions or if it was genuine to her appearance. And her appearance did bother me. 

Vilebloods must not feel the cold. I was shivering through my robes and she was undaunted entirely. It was an observation I’d have to pass along to Yilmarie. IF I ever made it back to him. Odeon Chapel was farther away than it ever had been. I didn’t know which sea we were on or where we were going. And of course then I remembered, I was going to be eaten before I got home. 

“How did they catch you?” Fwahe asked. 

“They didn’t…so much as I walked into a trap.” I admitted. 

She scoffed. “They would take you softly too.” 

“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked, at least trying to steer her into talking about something useful. 

“To the Executioners. Like they said.” Fwahe returned, “The beasts who destroyed my home. I escaped them once, and shall again.” 

“Mensis then.” I said, remembering the place that Sig and Mikaela had talked about, “That’s where they were heading.” 

“How did you know that, church boy?” Fwahe asked. 

“What’s it to you, Vileblood?” I growled. This church boy thing was as bad as Sig’s incessant magnolia talk. 

The chains jolted, and the next thing I knew Fwahe had a hand around the collar of my robes. She looked right into my eyes as she spoke. I can’t tell if her teeth are truly pointed or if it’s just a trick of the lowlight, but I could swear they were the features of an animal more so then a human. 

“Use. My. Name.” 

I didn’t want to die. I am sure that Executioner Alfred would have spat in her face. He would’ve told her he’d rather die than show a Vileblood any respect. If he had said it he would’ve meant it too. I couldn’t make myself fake it, and I didn’t have the nerve to be genuine. Being called “It” by these sailors must’ve truly cut the monster deep. 

“Ok.” I said, “Ok Fwahe.” 

“And don’t forget it, church boy.” She snarled before dropping her grip. She hadn’t held me tight enough to cause any choking, but I still took in a big gulp of air. I couldn’t say I gained any sense of relief, but at least she was willing to let there be distance between us once more. 

The boat kept up its swaying. The timber it was made out of seemed to moan as it advanced its course. I could feel the water from earlier sloshing around in my stomach. I feared I’d get sick and if I was to wretch I’d be wearing soiled robes to the grave. We were in the sea now, the territory of Kos. I didn’t want to show up to my namesake covered in filth. She was a horrible conversationalist, but the only source of distraction provided to me. If I was to stave off sickness I could not linger in silence. I would have to continue to converse with the creature. 

“How long have you been here?” I asked. 

“Time is difficult.” She replies. 

I clenched my teeth in frustration. Why is it so impossible to get a straight answer from this creature? 

“Sure.” I replied, “Have you…had…I mean…has anyone else been..” 

“No.” She said, “I haven’t eaten anyone in your position yet. None but you have been provided, I’m sure it means none but you were stupid enough to trust a sailor.” 

“I was escaping from other people.” I informed her, “I didn’t have a lot of options.” 

She scoffed but didn’t offer further insult. I suppose that was as close to approval as I’d be getting. 

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked for want of a better topic. No others came to me. 

“No.” She said simply. 

I could’ve had a more gripping conversation with a rock. It seems I was fated to battle sea sickness. I shifted around trying to find a comfortable position but the restraints wouldn’t give. My hands were starting to go numb. I didn’t know whether it was due to cold or perhaps reduced blood flow. My prayers are silent now, but just as constant as they’d been before. Maybe this way the Vileblood won’t be so insulting about them. 

She made no sound herself, the chains spoke for her as she settled back into her previous position. It doesn’t seem as though the metal cage floor would be much for comfort, but I’d trade positions in an instant. The night, or day, (I cannot tell) feels unending. I start to understand what Fwahe meant by time being difficult. Night and day were the same. There was nothing to mark the passing by. The clamor of feet over head and the rocking of the ship blurred to background noise. 

My eyes burned with light the next time the sailor came back. 

“You haven’t eaten him yet? What’s wrong? Don’t like church hunter?” He asks. 

Fwahe didn’t satisfy him with a response. 

“It doesn’t seem to want to talk to me eh, boy?” The sailor asks. He picked up Fwahe’s chain and gave it a yank. Unseen in the darkness it was attached to some kind of crank. He reeled it back in until she’s as pressed for room to move as I am. Making sure it’s secure he stepped in and unlocked my cuffs. I fell to the cage floor, limbs weary. I kept trying, but couldn’t seem to push myself off the ground. 

The sailor took pity on me, and hauled me up by one arm. Everything in me felts liquefied and shaky. “Come on, up you get.” He barked, “Looks as though we’ll need to feed you and I won’t have you pissing down here and making things smell afoul. Up that ladder now boy, but don’t you worry. I’ll be returning you to your friend soon enough.” 

It’s a struggle to climb the ladder, but I don’t find myself in the same mad scramble to leave Fwahe as I did when confronted with Cassius. Even if my legs could move properly, I doubt they would’ve made the climb with haste. 

The deck of the ship was a flurry of activity. For some reason I had seen sailing as a lazy occupation, a bunch of fishermen at sea just relaxing in the sun. In reality it was a whole mess of movement. People ran from bow to stern. All through the rigging were sailors adjusting the sails and attending to other tasks. I did not know their purpose and couldn’t begin to guess. There was a helmsman at the wheel barking orders to those below. 

“Quit staring!” the sailor growled, shoving me along. I had to grab a nearby barrel to keep from falling on the ground. My legs really, really weren’t working with me. Being on top of the ship was worse than being inside it. Everything was surrounded by the lurching sea. My stomach was turning knots. I stumbled to the nearest railing and lost whatever sat in my stomach over the side. 

“Seasick?” He asked. 

I nodded miserably. 

“Don’t go barfing in the brig. You’ll be the one cleaning it up if you do.” He cautioned. 

Once I was finished, he took me to the galley and offered me something to eat. Whatever it was I didn’t want it; not after having forfeited last night’s stew to the sea. 

“You don’t get to choose, boy.” He told me, “We need you alive so the Vileblood stays sane. Here and now you’re property of the Prestwick Company, so you’ll eat when it wants you to.” 

I took the hard bread he offered and picked at it half-heartedly. 

“Mister Nash, sir?” 

The sailor’s head looked up, turning to meet the face of a skinny crew member. I thought I remembered this one climbing in the rigging, but they all dressed alike and there was no way to tell. 

“Speak up lookout.” He said, not even glancing up from me. 

“There’s another ship’s been sighted sir.” He said, “Off the starboard bow!” 

“There’s ships sighted all the time.” Mister Nash replied, “Keep an eye on it. If it comes close enough get its flags and come find me again.” 

“Aye sir!” the lookout replied and darted off to his post once more. 

When I’m finished picking apart my meal, Mister Nash took me to the water closet. The place smelled like alcohol and a thousand other unsavory things; I make quick work of it. I was returned to the cage afterwards. Fwahe was still gasping for breath from the overtight collar, but the sailor took his time. He knew she couldn’t die of something so mundane as oxygen deprivation. 

I made halfhearted protests as he re-secured me, but I lacked the strength to fight him. He tested everything making sure it was tighter than comfortable. I’d not be escaping on his watch. 

“Eat him quickly.” Mister Nash says to Fwahe, “We don’t have the rations to keep him living long.” 

He tossed a bucket into the cell. 

“And that’s for the seasickness, should you need it. I suggest you make efforts to contain it, lest you have to live with the reek of it.” 

Fwahe again, gave no confirmation. She seemed entirely unwilling to acknowledge the sailor even for the purpose of insulting him. He stepped out and locked the cage door. He tugged it several times ensuring its security before unwinding the crank and giving Fwahe’s breath back. 

“I will not be cleaning up after you.” Fwahe informed. 

“I didn’t expect you too.” I said. 

“You’re shaking.” She commented. 

“Walking is hard. Everything’s numb and weird and not working right.” I said. I didn’t want to tell her that I’d also been violently ill. She saw me as weak enough already, no need to tack on demerits. 

“You’re shaking the whole cage.” She said. 

“Well there’s not much I can do about it.” I said, “You’re going to have to just live with it.” 

“Humans are such an inconvenience.” Fwahe sighed. “But I won’t give the boatman the satisfaction of killing you on his time.” 

“I’d prefer you not kill me at all, if it’s all the same to you.” I replied. 

“And I’d prefer the cage not shake.” Fwahe quipped. 

She was as sharp-tongued and unsympathetic as a snake. I wanted to curse every last Vileblood for having the nerve to be so human in appearance. An additional curse for having them be human in nature, for Fwahe could talk and think and communicate. She was not like the thoughtless thing that had destroyed Eros. She had a range of emotions and coherent speech. It was despicable. 

“What time was it?” She asked me. 

“Late afternoon.” I replied, “I expect you can use me as a clock now, since they will have to feed me to keep me alive. Time might be less difficult for you.” 

“Then you’re not entirely useless church boy.” Fwahe said. “It’s a miracle.” 

She may have meant it as a joke but it was not followed by and sort of laughter. If being a clock meant buying more time I resigned myself to it. I had no notion of how I was to sleep in this position. I am sure Eros would’ve managed it. He could sleep anywhere. 

He was sleeping all the time now. I hoped that Kos or an Amygdala had picked him up. It was hard to say Eros was a pious person and did many things the Anointed Texts frowned upon, but he was still a church hunter. He must’ve ended up somewhere amongst the stars. I doubted he would be confined to the dark depths, where the Vileblood and these sailors were most certainly bound. 

I would’ve prayed for him If Fwahe wasn’t going to snarl at me for it. She could insult the Ancient Ones until the end of days, but if I had to defend Eros to her I would lose it. The wound was too fresh. 

I closed my eyes and tried to find comfort in the swaying of the ship. Rocking was supposed to sooth babies. I couldn’t see how. It only served to sicken me further. Even infants seemed to be stronger than me today. Perhaps Fwahe was right and I had gone soft. 

Not softening at all was the pain of the wounds I’d sustained from Old Yharnam. I know they had been attended to by a medic, but they still burned and ached from time to time. I felt as though they should have healed up by now. Mister Nash was barely willing to spare food; medical supplies would be out of the question. 

The days dragged on endlessly. Conversation dried up, and as I became more accustomed to the ship’s rocking I felt less of a need to speak at all. Mister Nash came to retrieve me at regular intervals; always insisting that Fwahe do away with me quickly. She never showed any sign that she’d heard him, but as soon as his squeaking boots had climbed back up the ladder she’d unleash a flurry of profanities condemning him until the end of time. 

I began to learn a thing or two from my brief trips above decks. There was a whole separate language for everything at sea, and while I didn’t understand any of it, it was useful to have new words to puzzle over. The Vileblood had more knowledge then me. I had made the mistake of asking what starboard was. I had thought me some kind of navigational tool, a board of stars to mark position. As it turns it was simply sailor’s speak for the right-handed side of things. 

“She really does need to kill you, boy.” Mister Nash informed as he stared me down. 

It was mealtime on the fifth day, a bowl of fish stew. I shrugged. 

“You’ll die either way.” He told me, “You hunters require blood ministration don’t you. To keep you from the madness? To keep the beasts’ sickness from consuming you.” 

I hadn’t thought of that. Blood consumption was of course, essential to survival as a hunter, but more so in the way of maintenance than an immediate need. It was like brushing your teeth; required but hardly urgent. I hadn’t gotten an injection since the carriage ride. 

“Do you not have any blood with you?” I asked resting my spoon on the lip of the bowl. 

“Prestwick Company controls all the blood.” Mister Nash informed, “Can’t seem to drain a thing from sea beasts. They have to buy it from hunters with some to spare. Precious stuff, not something they’d trust to a vessel like ours. We just got damn lucky finding the two of you. I’d rather be paid for one of you then loose both to madness, but your fate is sealed boy.” 

I was letting that sink in for a second when the same lookout from days ago returned to the galley. 

“Mister Nash sir…it’s…that ship I saw a ways off days ago….” 

“Aye out with it, lad.” Mister Nash barked impatiently. 

“Well it disappeared in the fog we’d been having, only now it’s come back. And it’s closer. I looked through my spyglass Sir, and I was able to make out its flag.” 

“Aye, what symbol was it?” Mister Nash asked. 

The lookout avoided eye contact while the sailor drummed his fingers on the table. The lookout coughed several times before he could give an answer. “Golden bird in flight on a sea foam field, sir.” 

“It couldn’t be.” Mister Nash snarled. 

“There weren’t no mistaking it, sir. I had several of the men in the rigging double check it. Their all saying it’s the Searider Falcon sir.” The lookout replied. 

In a moment Mister Nash had gotten over his doubts and leapt into action. He grabbed the nearest crew member and began barking orders. He was shouting about loading cannons and readying gunpowder. He told the lookout to alert the captain at once, and the frightened young man stumbled off; banging his knee against the table as he went. Mister Nash didn’t bother to let me finish eating. He re-secured me twice as quickly but just as thoroughly as before. 

“What’s happening?” Fwahe asked. 

It was the first time I’d seen her address him. 

“Nothing that need concern you.” Mister Nash replied as he yanked the cage door several times to ensure the mechanism had locked correctly. He was up the stairs without another word. 

Fwahe looked at me for answers. 

“I’m not sure.” I began, “There’s another ship approaching. From the way Mister Nash responded to it, it seems like they intend to fight it. The lookout was scared of the other ship’s flag, and there was something about a falcon.” 

Fwahe’s eyes lit up. She sensed in the commotion a chance at escape. I was hoping for the same, but the thought of cannon fire worried me. There was little chance of us surviving something like that, myself especially. There was no way I could dodge a blow in this position. 

There was more activity than ever on deck. The pounding of footsteps was constant and we could hear muffled shouting. Fwahe scrambled from one end of the cage to the other, like a hound during a thunderstorm. She strained to hear what the sailors were saying, but the thick timber that separated us from them was never going to yield the desired result. She had an insane amount of energy for someone who hadn’t eaten in close to a week. 

“Are they friends of yours? That other ship?” I asked her. 

“I have no friends.” She snapped. 

I had never heard a cannon go off before. The sound was louder than any beast I’d been put up against. It left your ears ringing. I would’ve covered my own if I could’ve. The ship we were on had fired the first shot. It would not be the last. 

The first cannonball that hit us sent splinters flying everywhere. It hadn’t pierced our portion of the hull but you could hear the shrapnel showering as it fell. The projectile must have torn through the next room, missing us by a hair. The exchange kept on. Every time something connected I thought we were done for. My ears stopped working after the first few shots, too overloaded with noise to process anything. 

Water started to come in through the walls. Fwahe pulled herself off the cage floor, clinging to the topmost bars. I felt the cold ocean catch me and slowly rise. The water was quickly coming up to my knees, more of it pouring in every second. The whole ship shook when the next shot tore through it. The boat wasn’t going to make it through the onslaught. 

Another shot tore through the ship and we were doused with light. It had blasted through the timber separating us from the deck. I looked up to see sailors in a panic. They were bolting in every direction; scrambling into escape boats. We were being abandoned. 

Fwahe started shouting. I could see her doing it but I still couldn’t assign a sound to anything. Not everyone was as deaf to the world as I. A girl, one who certainly hadn’t been amongst the crew before looked down into our fast sinking prison. The girl called over others and they began to navigate the splintered boards and shattered ladder to make their way to us. 

Unfortunately, they didn’t have keys with them. 

My stomach sank when they were confronted with the locked door. There were three of them and they tugged at the bars uselessly. Their collective strength was nothing in comparison to the steel. But they were not unarmed. Sparks started to fizzle and fly as a whirling mass of toothed blades was pressed against the lock. It must’ve been a Powder Keg contraption; no sane person fought with a weapon like that. They were hunters, thank Kos. 

They sawed through the cuffs too. I was scorched by the sparks but I didn’t care. The whirring saw cut through the soundlessness and I could hear again. 

“Let me loose!” Fwahe shouted at them. 

“She doesn’t seem much of a hunter to me.” The girl who initially found us said. 

If I were being honest, she didn’t look much like a huntress. She dressed in a style closer to a hapless minstrel then a hunter, wearing a bright garish coat and striped pants. She carried the Powder Keg weapon. 

“Don’t be like that Ratter. If they’re against Prestwick they’re with us. You know what the Captain said” the second of the trio said. She had hair that was wrangled into an elaborate style, which had made it through the splinters and seawater reasonably intact. 

“She’s Vileblood.” I told them. The last of my cuffs had been sawed through and I braced myself against the icy torrent. 

“Cut me loose or I will slay you where you stand!” Fwahe snarled. 

“That’s not really swaying me to your cause.” The garishly dressed one replied. 

Fwahe dropped into the water, grabbing for the smallest of my rescuers. The tiny thing didn’t even reach my shoulders, and was dressed in a soaking gray sweater. Her eyes were hidden by both the brim of a bonnet and a fluff of chocolate bangs, but I was sure they were wide with fear. All the same she didn’t scream when the Vileblood’s claws locked around her. 

“Free me or lose her.” Fwahe snarled. 

“Easy does it. Ratliff’s going to saw through your chain real easy” the fancy one said; speaking softly. “Don’t hurt her ok?” 

Fwahe nodded but did not loosen her grip on the girl. 

Ratliff’s saw was through Fwahe’s chain in no time. She kept her word and released the girl who ran back to her friends, clinging to Ratliff’s leg. They held out their hands and pointed out foot holds helping us to scramble away from the ship. We got onto the deck, which was a complete wreck. There were dead men everywhere and more were added to their numbers with each passing second. I pegged them for pirates of some sort. We had stayed together to escape the brig but now Fwahe’s eyes wandered, taking in the piles of bodies. She was searching for Mister Nash; I was sure of it. 

“Don’t get any ideas.” I cautioned her. 

“You couldn’t stop me if you tried.” She scoffed. 

The truth bites. 

Ratliff and her crew lead us over to a woman who had Mister Nash pinned to the deck with her boot. It was quite the picture. The pirate captain’s hair was long and black, and flowed unrestrained wherever it pleased. It was as straight as Yilmarie’s was curly. She was tall too, and wore a strange jacket with feathery motifs stitched all over it. 

“Sorry to cut in Captain, but we found these two in the brig. One seems to be a proper cherry boy of a church hunter, and he claims the other is a Vileblood. She briefly took Ottilie hostage but I think that was more out of fear than anything else.” Ratliff said, standing and saluting her superior. 

“Thank you Ratliff.” She said. She spoke calmly and didn’t remove her boot from Nash’s body, but turned and looked at Fwahe and myself. “My name is Roshin Vithiril. These fine women are my crew and the Searider Falcon is my ship. You can consider yourselves at ease, we oppose all the Prestwick Company stands for.” 

“Thank you for coming to our aid Miss Vithiril.” I said, giving her a traditional church hunter’s bow. 

She smiled politely, amused. Ratliff on the other hand nearly fell over with laughter. 

“I’m sorry Captain. I knew he was a church hunter but I’d no idea he was so polite. It’s just you’re there with your sword, your literal sword held at a man’s neck and he’s here all bowing and..it’s just too good.” 

“Always glad to see you amused.” Roshin returned dryly. “Ottilie, Merribelle, won’t you be so kind as to show them to our ship? There’s still some retribution to be dealt here.” 

Ottilie took one look at Fwahe and shook her head in violent disagreement of the captain’s proposed plan. Merribelle place a reassuring hand on her shoulder and I gave her a smile. She started to follow Merribelle’s lead and I came after the both of them. Fwahe was not at my side, nor did I particularly want her to be, but all the same she seemed to be jeopardizing our chance with our rescuers. She stood rooted in place, eyes locked on Mister Nash. 

“His life is mine to take.” She said, mirroring the same dry calmness that Roshin had addressed us with. 

“By your leave.” Roshin said with a nod, and stepped away from the simpering sailor. She extended the handle of her sword to Fwahe, but the Vileblood shook her head. I turned away and kept my eyes on the back of Merribelle’s head as the sound of crunching bone and slurping blood filled the air. 

We passed by several other crewmembers of the Searider Falcon as they were rounding up the rest of the crew and cutting them down. A girl with no hair and dark skin, vaulted past me, trident in hand. She caught the worrisome lookout in the throat and flung him over the side of the ship in one fluid motion. The water pooled red where he’d landed. 

“Sereja’s at it again.” Merribelle said watching as the body drifted further from the sinking ship. “She has something against lookouts doesn’t she?” 

Ottilie nodded. 

The Searider Falcon was an impressive vessel. The timber glowed honey gold in the fading light; standing out like a sparkling jewel against the dark sea. Its sails were a sea foam green, billowing in the wind. A falcon with wings spread served as their figurehead unlike the chained mermaid which was now sinking to the bottom of the ocean. The only person left aboard was the helmsmen. Roshin had let the rest of her crew loose for the fighting. 

“What have you brought back?” The helmsmen hollered as she spied us climbing aboard. “Looks like he’s ready to surrender dressed like that. Don’t tell me Captain Vithiril has started saving sailors.” 

“He was in the brig.” Merribelle explained. 

The helmsmen nodded, “Well he’s ever the fortunate one. Welcome aboard.” 

“Thank you.” I said, and I gave her a bow despite the amusement it had provided Ratliff. You couldn’t really expect a band of pirates to have proper manners. 

The helmsman was about as amused by my bowing as Roshin had been. I was going to introduce myself but was detained by Merribelle. Neither her nor Ottilie could seem to decide whether I was guest or prisoner. They were at one moment forcibly marching me along, and the next skipping by my side. Both seemed fairly young and if they were truly blood-cut hunters they were of the illegal kind. No hunter was supposed to be cut before they reached sixteen and Ottilie couldn’t possibly be that old if she was that small, unless she had abnormally stunted growth. It was not unheard of in these times. 

She also couldn’t speak, not traditionally anyway. If she needed something she waved at Merribelle and spoke in a series of flickering fingers. The two of them had developed a soundless language between each other. They had no trouble understanding each other, and I had no idea what they were saying. I wondered if I should be so trusting of these pirates. The last time I’d trusted someone with a boat I’d been kidnapped for Vileblood food. At least no one here had put me in a cage. 

They were killing all the sailors though, which made me worry. Even so far inland as Yharnam we had heard tales of sirens. They could be creatures themselves, and I merely unfamiliar and ignorant of it all. If they were beasts they had to be the kind like Fwahe, with their brains still intact. I wasn’t sure and decided to gather what information I could before making up my mind. 

One by one they returned to their ship; most of them covered in blood. The one with no hair, Sereja, was dripping it onto the deck. Roshin returned with not a spot on her, I suspected she might have taken the time to wash up beforehand. Brawls like that were difficult to escape unsullied. Fwahe was with her, herself having not been spared a good coating of gore. I doubted she’d achieved it the same way as Sereja. 

“Glad to see you made it aboard.” Roshin said, addressing her crew. “All present and accounted for?” 

“Aye Captain.” Replied Ratliff, “Didn’t lose a one of us.” 

“Excellent.” She said with a smile. “And the ship?” 

“Searider’s in worse shape than we are.” Ratliff admitted. “But it’s nothing what can’t be sailed. We’ll just have to find a port before too long and get her patched up.” 

“That’s fortunate.” Sereja said. She was perched on the ship’s railing and was wiping blood off her trident. It must’ve seen quite a good bit of action. “I was able to take a look at that ship’s plan before it was destroyed. They’re one of the bounty-hunting ships, called the Alert. The Alert was set to join up with a Prestwick slaver there. There’s likely to be one of their hunter galleons in port, ripe for the liberation.” 

Roshin smiled. “It’s been awhile since we’ve had an opportunity like that.” 

“I don’t mean to be rude.” I said. I truly didn’t, but I had the feeling this conversation might get to be rather a long one if I didn’t break it up; and my question couldn’t wait. “But what do you intend to do with us?” 

The pirates all chuckled. The Captain’s face softened when she noticed the concerned looks Fwahe and I exchanged. I hated to be in league with a Vileblood but I had no other options. 

“We don’t intend to do anything at all.” Roshin said. “We were simply looking to destroy that ship. Your liberation was by coincidence.” 

“Then would you mind returning me to Yharnam?” I asked. “I was taken from there and it’s urgent I get back.” 

“That’s way off course.” Sereja informed before Roshin could reply. “The Prestwick ship is north, and may only stay there a few days.” 

Roshin paced across the deck as she considered things. I wish she would make up her mind more quickly. Lanthem would do this too brooding over something for days, until it drove you half-crazy. Her crew watched her, their eyes following back and forth. Fwahe had taken a seat on a barrel and was picking dried blood from underneath her nails, completely apathetic to whichever destination was chosen. 

“We’d be happy to escort you back to Yharnam.” Roshin said, “But I’m afraid this matter will take precedent. Once we’ve completed our task we will make all haste to take you home. That is the best I can do for now.” 

It was the best that anyone was going to do. I had no hope of a secondary rescue and if these pirates were willing to take me home they were surely different from the sailors, Sig and Mikaela. All of them had refused to alter their course for me, making the divide between friend and enemy clear. These girls might have been strange but they were willing to take me home and that was more then I could

“Thank you very much Miss. Vithiril.” I replied. 

“You’re welcome…” she said letting the sentence drop while she waited for my name. Thank Kos someone actually intended to use it now. 

“Kohso.” I replied all too eagerly. “My name is Kohso.” 

Ratliff snorted, “It would be.” 

“What?” I asked. 

“You are every bit the church novice, aren’t you?” She returned. 

“Well…yes.” I admitted. “I was raised in Odeon Chapel. The church is everything I’ve ever known.” 

“And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Roshin said, throwing a pointed glance in Ratliff’s direction. “We’re lucky to have someone the gods favor on board. Sailors believe that women at sea are unlucky. I do not agree with this notion, but currying the favor of the Ancient Ones couldn’t possibly do us harm. The ocean belongs to Kos after all.” 

“Right you are Captain.” Ratliff said. “The cherry boy can do our praying for us then.” 

“And what of you?” Roshin asked turning to Fwahe, “Where would you like to go.” 

It took a few moments for Fwahe to realize that Roshin was talking to her, she had become so absorbed in nail maintenance. Looking up from it seemed to be a chore for her. She blinked in surprise at the question once she’d processed it, then shrugged. 

Roshin grinned and gave her a firm nod, completely undaunted by the Vileblood’s lack of direction. “Onward!” she shouted to her crew. 

They all broke off in a rush of activity. One of them nearly knocked me over. She would’ve collided with me if Ottilie hadn’t pulled me out of her way in time. They were in a different way than Mister Nash’s crew had been. There weren’t nearly as many of Roshin’s pirates as there had been sailors. Each seemed to be doing the work of four or five people but they did it happily. 

“Come on don’t just stand there.” The helmsmen barked at me. “Up into the rigging with Ratter. Get those sails up.” 

After another push in the right direction from Ottilie I found myself clinging to the rigging like a cat stuck in a tree. Even without a fear of heights I didn’t relish the wind and sea spray that the ocean brought with it. The rocking sensation of the boat from aloft was way worse than from below. 

“’Course they’d put you with me.” Ratliff scoffed, nimbly walking across the beam one of the sails was suspended from. “Do me a favor and don’t plummet to your death.” 

“I’ll try.” I replied. 

She grinned. Once she’d established her prowess with the rigging and had run out of insults, she was actually quite helpful. There was no small amount of bullying that went on but after a time the two of us had the sails tied down the way Roshin wanted them. Ratliff leaned back against the pole of the crow’s nest; relaxed while I clung to the sail’s beam with my hand and legs. All there was water for miles around. I’d never been anywhere so empty. 

“Now just lay back and try to look kind of busy.” Ratliff said, “Otherwise they’ll make us clean stuff. Sereja’s the one who got blood everywhere and it shouldn’t be up to me to clean it.” 

I had no problem complying with her request, as I truly wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to get down from the rigging now that I was up. I felt like a cat who’d gone too far up a tree. I didn’t think there’d be a ladder big enough to get me down. 

“Not much of one for climbing are you?” She asked. 

“On the contrary.” I returned, “I’m very fond of climbing, I just prefer my perches to be more stable. Rooftops or trees are fine, but I’m afraid I don’t have my sea legs. The swaying is worse than the heights.” 

“You get used to it.” Ratliff said, “Though a swig of grog every now and again helps speed the process up.” 

“I don’t drink.” I told her. 

She snorted, “Of course. You wouldn’t now would you?” 

“I can see you Ratter!” the helmsman barked from below. She had a powerful voice which matched the rest of her build. “Quit harassing the church boy and come down here!” 

“You’re killin’ me Delphine!” Ratliff shouted back, but she was already halfway down the rigging. “Can’t let me have a moment’s rest?” 

“If I gave you a moment you’d nap up there for the rest of the day. Captain wants the ship spic and span and there’s a whole lot of blood on deck.” 

Ratliff threw her arms up above her head dramatically, clinging to the ropes with only her legs for the sake of the comedic gesture. In contrast I was inching my way backwards across the beam, cringing each time it swayed in the wind. 

“How come I have to do it? Sereja never cleans up her own blood!” Ratliff whined. 

“That’s because Sereja always gets the most kills.” Delphine laughed. “You can’t expect our best brawler to do all the heavy lifting. What do you think we keep scrubs like you around for?” 

“I’ll show you a scrub!” Ratliff shouted, ripping off one of her boots and hurling it at the helmsman. It was a perfect throw, the soft leather looping end over end, just as Yilmarie’s well-timed blades would. The projectile would’ve been a direct hit too if Delphine’s hand hadn’t shot out to grab it, stopping the boot before it made contact. 

“You’ll regret that!” Delphine boomed sending the boot shooting back. 

I had made it off the beam and was carefully climbing my way down the rigging. The netting, which had the annoying habit of shifting and sagging every time I put weight on it, was a pain to climb. When I reached the deck Ratliff and Delphine’s fight has escalated to all-out war. Ratliff had armed herself with a mop, presumably the one which she was supposed to clean the deck with. She was only wearing the one boot, and its twin was a constant projectile between the two. Delphine was unwilling to leave her position, steering the ship with one hand and fending off the intrepid Ratliff with a drafting compass. Despite having just come off a brawl they were eager to pour their all into this one. I genuinely feared injury. 

“Idiots.” Fwahe grumbled. 

She was still lurking on the barrel where she’d first seated herself. Apparently Delphine hadn’t roped her into menial tasks. I would’ve been offended, but if I had been put in the helmsman’s position I wouldn’t be all too keen on starting a conversation with a Vileblood. 

“They seem to be having fun.” I offered. 

“Fighting isn’t some kind of game, church boy.” Fwahe said. “Only take up arms if you intend to kill.” 

That would be the monster’s way of looking at things. I backed away from her and kept an eye on the sparring. Neither seemed to keep an advantage over the other for long. Delphine had strength but lacked range. Ratliff could hop around all she wanted but her blows did little to damage her opponent. 

“Enough you two!” Merribelle said, nimbly stepping in-between the two. She had the compass point in one hand and the handle of Ratliff’s broom in the other. “Fighting on deck? Come on, let’s make a good impression. We have guests.” 

The fight stopped as quickly as it started. Delphine resumed her steering and Ratliff turned her attack towards the remains that Sereja had trailed along with her. 

“I’m sorry about that.” Merribelle said, coming alongside me. 

“Not at all Miss Merribelle.” I said 

Fwahe gave her typical response and said nothing. 

“The Captain’s asked me to escort you to your quarters and invite you to dinner.” She said, “She figured you might like a rest.” 

“Thank you.” I said. 

I was beyond eager to get the chance to lie down and sleep; it had been days since I’d slept properly. Merribelle led us below decks. I was happy to be surrounded by wooden walls instead of open sea. Fwahe and I were given separate cabins. I don’t think I could’ve withstood the immodesty of having to share a bed with a huntress, let alone the indignity that would come had I been forced to share one with a monster. 

Merribelle told us that she would come retrieve us for dinner when it was time. I thanked her profusely and waited until she disappeared down the hall before closing the door to my cabin. For the first time in days I had some privacy. The cabin was small but cozy, with everything in its place. A lantern hung from the ceiling. The bed was a bunk, and since I had no desire to expend the extra effort and climb to the top I took the bottom mattress. It felt like a real feather one to me, but it could’ve just been a result of sleeping standing against cage bars. A square of carpet on the floor would’ve felt the same as a canopied four-poster. 

The blankets were thick and woolen, and it wasn’t until I’d burrowed under them that I felt truly warm again. They smelled clean and I pressed the blankets to my nose, trying to overpower the scents of salt and blood and sweat. I was so overwhelmed by the simple comforts I forgot my senses for a moment. It could’ve been from sheer relief, or homesickness but more than likely a combination of the two; in either case I couldn’t help but cry. 

There are many schools of thought on crying, and whether it makes you strong or weak. I’d never given it all too much thought; my only preference on crying was that it be done alone. I didn’t like to cry around other people; nor did I want them to cry around me. Safely alone it felt good, it felt like taking a bath after hunting. All the nastiness was washed away. 

There was a washstand in the room, but I didn’t get the chance to use it. My emotional outpouring must have been a brief affair. I was being shaken awake before I realized I’d fallen asleep. True to her word, Merribelle had come back to take us to dinner. Fwahe was already looming behind her. I wished she hadn’t let the Vileblood come into my cabin. 

“Would it be alright if I had a moment to wash up?” I asked blearily as I clambered out of the bunk. 

“Of course.” Merribelle said, “We’ll give you the room.” 

She and Fwahe were out the door before I could say thank you. Savoring what little time I had left to myself, I dipped a cloth into the basin and scrubbed my face. It was wonderful to wash away the dirt of the sunken vessel. I wrung out the excess water and folded the cloth before joining Merribelle and Fwahe in the hallway. 

Merribelle took the lead and brought us to the galley. It was a lot more opulent than the place Mister Nash and his crew ate in. Roshin seemed to have a flair for the dramatic, at least when it came to decorating. The table sparkled with crystal candelabras, and each place setting was done up in china. The materials seemed far too breakable for sea voyaging, but that didn’t negate their presence. The smell of seafood was in the air; the length of the Captain’s table already set with plenty to eat. 

“I do hope you’ll enjoy our company, if nothing else.” Roshin said to Fwahe, “I’m afraid we don’t stock what you’re after in our larders.” 

“I’ve already eaten today. It won’t be a problem.” Fwahe said, taking the seat nearest her. 

I was proud to say I had met most of the crew before dinner, there were only two who hadn’t been introduced to me yet. It was quickly remedied, as I was sat between both of them. To my left was a small girl dressed in a strange one-piece pant and suit combination. In addition to being able to boast herself the lone survivor of her Japanese fishing village, she was also the ship’s engineer. I had to get most of this information secondhand, since Meru spent most of the evening conversing with Ottilie, who was seated across from her. 

My informant was the ship’s catch-all. It wouldn’t do to call her a cabin boy or a handyman, since there could be no doubt about her gender. She must’ve come from the same place Fwahe had, neither seemed to want to wear much of anything. Harker’s shirt and pants were only slightly longer than the Vileblood’s, though the crew member’s were much cleaner. Harker turned towards me whenever she talked, so I spent most of the evening staring down at my plate lest I look where I shouldn’t. 

I brought my hands together and bowed my head, unaware that I’d just become the attention of everyone at the table. Praying before a meal was so second nature for me; I was halfway through the memorized devotion before I even noticed the silence of those around me. What I’d begun in a confident practiced monotone I finished in a hastily muttered whisper. 

An uncomfortable pause followed. It was quickly put to rest when Ottilie reached for the nearest serving dish. The clatter of silver spoon against tureen reminded everyone of the reason we were there and soon food was flying around the table. There was an order to it all, one dish picked up and passed around to each. The process would be started anew once it made its full circuit. I took a little of everything, each smelling more delicious then the last. 

Once everything had made its rounds the feast began. 

“You really ought to take it easy.” Harker advised. 

I was eating more like a beast then a human, and hadn’t realized it until she’d said something. “Sorry.” I apologized, setting my fork down and wiping my lips with a napkin. 

“Don’t apologize. It must’ve been awful; they must’ve been starving you. I remember what it was like with the Prestwick Company.” Harker said. 

“You were captured too?” I asked 

“Most everyone on this ship was, except Ratter. No one really knows where she came from.” Harker said. 

I took a buttered roll to the face, hurled from the sharp-eared lookout who lurked at the opposite end of the table. 

“That wasn’t meant for you, cherry boy!” Ratliff shouted, although we were all close enough to hear one another if we spoke in regular volumes. “Toss it back and let me have another go.” 

“Try to conduct yourself with some dignity.” Roshin said, taking a sip of white wine. “We have guests. Throwing things at the table is undoubtedly frowned upon in the Healing Church.” 

“No one ever tried it.” I admitted, taking a bite out of Ratliff’s roll rather then returning it to her. “But I imagine you’re right. Sister Veera would have our heads if we started throwing stuff. There was one time when Brother Minimus brought a live chicken into-“ 

I stopped myself. No one had any idea who I was talking about. It was just like when I’d started praying. This wasn’t home, and it wasn’t ever going to be. I let the strange pause run its course sure that someone would break it. Harker put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I wanted to shrug it off, but there was no reason to be rude to my rescuers. I gave her a muttered thanks and focused on finishing the pile of food in front of me. I was starting to lose my appetite. 

No one attempted to start a conversation with me for the remainder of the meal. They were nice enough to look over and smile from time to time, and my silence wasn’t particularly noticeable as Roshin’s pirates were all clamoring over one another to tell stories or make jokes. Once I felt a lull in the dining, I excused myself and left the galley behind. My intent was to return to my cabin and find some peace and quiet, but after walking circles through the halls I had to settle for a shadowy corner on deck. I’d never had trouble finding my way around Yharnam, Eros had praised me more than once for my navigation prowess; but nothing here was familiar. The Searider Falcon didn’t even seem that large in comparison to the city, but nothing could’ve confused me more. 

The sea was black at night, different levels of seething shadows. It was a beast of a completely separate kind, and not one I reasoned I’d enjoy fighting. So far I hadn’t seen any of the monsters that were supposed to be lurking beneath the waves. Even as I stared into the impossible deepness I couldn’t make out the shape of any living thing. There weren’t even standard animals, no visible fish or seaweed. 

I must have spent awhile staring at the sea. Time didn’t really seem to pass for me, but soon Ottilie was pulling my sleeve. I turned to face her and she grinned. I smiled back. She sat beside me, letting her legs slip between breaks in the railing and dangle over the ocean. She had no fear of falling. 

“Can you help me get back to my room?” I asked her, “I got lost.” 

She patted my arm reassuringly, but did not rise and show me the way. I started to get up but she tugged me back down. 

“What is it?” I asked. 

On instinct she began to speak with her hands, using a silent language that I could not comprehend. She quickly caught herself and chuckled. Ottilie’s laughter sounded just like any other child’s. I’d expected it to be different but I suppose laughter was universal. She just pointed into the ocean, unable to offer further reasons for the delay of my request. 

I had no pen or ink, no paper so that she might better communicate with me. Even if I had writing supplies there is no guarantee that the young girl would be literate. There were hundreds if not thousands in Yharnam alone who couldn’t read a single word. Despite the Healing Church’s efforts to establish schools and tutor children, there were so many unable to find the time to attend. It was a harsh world even if you weren’t a hunter. I vowed to ask one of the others to teach me some of Ottilie’s language, if nothing else I wanted to thank her for her kindness. 

“She likes to stare at the sea.” 

I whipped my head around and found Sereja lurking behind us. Ottilie smiled and the two began to talk. They kept their hands close to their lanterns, drawing out their words into long jumping shadows that danced across the deck. 

“She knows she isn’t supposed to be out here after dark.” Sereja said, holding conversation with both of us at the same time. 

“Ah.” I said, “That clears that up. I was just trying to find my way back to my cabin.” 

“Sound logic.” Sereja said, “No good being out on deck on a night like tonight. The sea’s too calm. Somethings bound to go wrong. Ottilie will show you the way, it’s time she went to bed too.” 

“Pirates have bed times?” I chuckled. 

Sereja raised an eyebrow, “What gave you the idea we were pirates?” 

“Well it’s just, I mean you decimated a ship not five hours ago.” I said, “And killed everyone on board, stole cargo, I presume.” 

“They stole those hunters. They stole you. We’re just returning what they’ve taken. Call us auditors or debt collectors if you want to call us anything, but we’re certainly not pirates.” 

I remained unconvinced, but didn’t press the matter further. Ottilie took me down below decks and I tried to remember the way in greater detail. My cabin felt just as safe and snug as before. It was a little strange being in a bed that wasn’t my own. It was a little like being in another person’s kitchen. I’d been to other churches before, to assist with dinners and benefits. There’s nothing quite like running around with your arms full of potato peelings because you can’t figure out where that kitchen’s rubbish bin is. This bedroom’s candle was in the wrong spot, and there was no copy of the anointed texts anywhere to be found. It was cruel that it should be so close to home, yet only make me feel further away. 

It was hard to sleep after the rest I’d had earlier. Now I noticed all the little unpleasant things that came with sea life. The boat never stopped moving. It spent the whole night sputtering and creaking. I kept thinking that there was something outside my door, and got up to check several times. The dark hall was all that awaited me, completely devoid of all signs of life. Just across the hall would be Fwahe, but even she could hardly be considered alive. If her corrupted existence counted as truly living it was an affront to all creation. I would stand to have it rectified just as soon as I was away from the crew of the Searider Falcon. I would report her to the church, or better yet, the Executioners and she could be dealt with in the proper manner. 

Neither of us had been given weapons. To be fair to Captain Roshin, neither of us had asked for them, but it did worry me that there was not an immediate distribution. I was pondering whether or not the same was true of Fwahe, she had stayed on the sinking ship longer then I had and it was possible she had arms of some kind after dealing with Mister Nash. I didn’t relish the thought of going up against her without an advantage. 

My mind kept turning the situation around, examining it to the fullest extent I was able. I didn’t formulate any strategies or battle plans; the practical application side of things was beyond my weary mind. It was all just wild plans, and grandiose schemes of bringing a captive Vileblood home to the Executioners. The thought of Alfred’s face, he was sure to be brimming with pride. Despite the blunders of Old Yharnam, to return with a thing like Fwahe would surely set the record straight. No one would be able to deny me entrance to the Executioners if I could accomplish that task. Maybe this Vileblood was a blessing in disguise, if I was only able to find a way to get the upper hand. 

There was also the problem of the return trip. Fwahe was bound to require feeding between now and my homecoming in Yharnam. There was no way I could justify sacrificing a denizen by letting her loose to hunt, nor would I be able to live with myself if I brought her an offering of my own volition. That was yet another difficult stipulation to overlook. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that it was better to get these things out ahead of time, much better to sort through problems before they became problems then try to deal with them in the moment. A blood-starved Vileblood was hardly the kind of thing that you wanted to have on your hands without a backup plan. If worse came to worse there was something to be said for quicksilver bullets. Even the immortals had their limits, and solid metal going straight through a skull was bound to do so some damage. 

But I did not have a gun, and so the cycle began itself anew. All the problems knotted themselves together in a great tangle, and no matter my needling I could not seem to get them to loosen. Eventually the tossing and turning of my thoughts must’ve aligned itself with the rocking of the ship; thus each on its own sickening worked together to cancel each other out and lull me to sleep. It had taken a good deal longer to reach me then the slumber that came from my earlier resting but it did finally arrive and I was grateful. The injury from Old Yharnam hadn’t stopped stinging, and there was not a doubt in my mind that it could use all the rest it could get. 

When morning came I didn’t know which it was; the denizen’s morning or the hunter’s. Time could really become so confusing without the routine of the hunt to keep things in proper order. I was starting to act much more like a denizen, rising with the sun as opposed to the moon. I could only assume it was around sunrise when I woke. There were no windows in my cabin, and it was still just as dark as it had been the night before. The hull of the ship was a solid thing without any cracks for the light to come through. I would conclude that that is truly what one would want out of a ship, if light could leak through so could water, and I’d prefer to stay afloat. 

I wished I had fresh clothes to put on, but my single set of robes was all that I possessed. I washed up as best I could in the basin; maintaining as much cleanliness as I could. I was pleased to find that I needed no help in finding my way onto the deck. My determination to learn the layout of the ship was paying off. Ratliff waved to me from the rigging. She scrambled up to the crow’s nest and then sent an orange plummeting down, aimed directly at my head. I sidestepped just in time to avoid the projectile. It bounced a few times on the deck then rolled over and came to a rest against my boot. 

“Oi! That’s bloody ungrateful of you!” Ratliff shouted down at me, “Not even so much as a thank you. You could stand to catch your breakfast next time, eh?” 

One orange thrown more like a missile than a meal was a sharp contrast to the banquet Roshin had treated us too. Dining on this ship had a tremendous range in terms of formality. I picked it up, the fruit hadn’t incurred any damage from its descent. It was as nice and round as any you’d pick up at the market. 

“Thank you!” I called up to her. There was no sense in being rude, though I hoped she wouldn’t try throwing any more elaborate meals down on my head. I didn’t want to spend half the day picking eggs or syrup out of my hair. I took the orange and sat on one of the barrels that were near the ship’s railing. I prayed before I peeled it. All of Roshin’s crew were too preoccupied with their tasks to pay my mutterings any mind. The Vileblood was nowhere to be seen. 

I began to eat, trying to recall just when the last time I’d had an orange was. They were common gifts in the Yule season. I concluded there had surely been snow on the ground the last time I’d tasted one. I ate it slowly, trying to savor it. It must’ve taken me too long, for I began to feel the eyes of the helmsman boring into me. Nothing that went down on deck escaped her watchful eyes. She surely had a task for me. 

I couldn’t find a rubbish bin, or any logical place for the orange peels. They had nested in the folds of my robe nicely enough when I was sitting down, but if I was to attend Delphine’s tasks then surely they couldn’t stay there. In the end I scooped them all into my left hand and cupped my right over it. I looked like I was holding an injured bird. 

I felt ridiculous. 

Nonetheless I hurried towards the ships wheel. I truly did not mind working in exchange for passage to Yharnam. To do otherwise would have felt wrong. We church hunters were raised to do our part. 

“Good morning.” I said, bowing to the helmsman. It was a feat awkwardly accomplished with a fistful of orange peel. 

“Aye.” She said, “No sign of a storm. Should be fine sailing. I trust you’ve had enough of our Ratter by now? One day in the rigging is enough for most.” 

“Yes, well…I mean.” I stammered trying to give the helmsman her desired response. It was true I hadn’t enjoyed my time aloft with Ratliff, but literally anything beat being stuck in a cage. “I’ll go where I’m needed.” 

Delphine gave me a grin, “That’s the spirit. Why don’t you go over the deck again, somehow Ratliff never did get around to mopping it yesterday?” 

“Yes Miss Delphine.” I said. 

Delphine chuckled, “Just say “aye” like everyone else. No need for titles unless you’re the captain.” 

“Oh, ok.” I stammered, “I mean, aye.” 

“Hop to it then. The mop’s over there.” She jerked her head towards a door near the back of the ship, where the Captain’s cabin was. “And just throw the garbage over the edge. Fish don’t mind it.” 

“Aye.” I said, jumping to the task. I watched the orange slivers, which stood out against the dark sea for a few seconds. They were swept up and carried along by the waves, bobbing in and out of their foamy crests. The mop was in the exact spot Delphine told me it would be, a hole drilled through the handle allowed it to be hung from a peg. I removed it and made note of its position so that I would be able to return it properly. There was also a bucket with a rope attached, it seemed like I’d need to haul in some of the sea to complete the task. There was a variety of other cleaning supplies as well, so I soon located some soap and a few spare bits of string. I tied and folded my robes as best they would allow, hoping to keep them from getting weighed down with soapy water. I began at the back of the deck, going over the entire area rather than concentrate on the spots saturated with bloodstains. Might as well make sure I didn’t miss any smaller messes. 

And there were plenty of them to be found. I couldn’t speak to the last time that this deck was cleaned but there were multiple times when I had to go at the weathered wood myself, scrubbing a determined stain out on hands and knees with a soap-soaked sponge. The hem of my robe did not come away unscathed, and began to drip small puddles as I carried out the task. There was all manner of stains I hadn’t noticed yesterday. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought they were new; perhaps the result of a hunt on the seas? 

That seemed impossible, for I was sure that if some sort of battle had occurred last night I would’ve heard it, and there hadn’t been the sounds of any kind of bloodshed. 

“Having fun Church Boy?” 

I was three fourths of the way done with my task when she saw fit to interrupt it. The Vileblood was not burnt by the sun as some accounts would’ve lead me to expect. Fwahe walked about on deck without a care in regards to the weather. 

“There is satisfaction to be taken in a job thoroughly done.” I returned, sparing her no more than a glance over my shoulder before continuing my task. “You could stand to assist them, yourself.” 

She scoffed, “Such work really isn’t suited to me. There are other tasks that I was put to.” 

“Oh really?” I asked bending further forward and scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot. There was a black mark that slashed across a few of the deck’s boards. It was made of some nasty burnt substance and stuck to the deck with tenacity, requiring superlative efforts for its removal. 

“Yes.” She said, “It’s nice they’ve put you to cleaning up after me.” 

I looked back over at her, raising an eyebrow in confusion. Fwahe grinned pleased to have an upper hand and knowledge I was not privy to. 

“It’s not clear to you?” She asked with a grin, that communicated the exact degree of unclear she knew her words to be. 

“I don’t have time for riddles, I’ve got a deck to clean.” I said, quickly deciding that I didn’t care. 

She grabbed the hood of my robe and yanked me away from the stain I was scrubbing. I tried to resist but she’d caught me off guard and was stronger then I’d expected. She pulled me onto a stack of crates. I scraped my knees on the rough wood as I scrambled to keep up. When we reached the summit of the stack I could see the deck from above, similar to Ratliff’s perches in the rigging. 

Those stains definitely were not there yesterday. It was but a faint outline, but now that I could see them from a distance, the black stains I was scrubbing were clearly blood splatters from a larger creature. Yellow circular patches, which I’d taken to be the residue of long-sitting barrels or buckets now clearly were the residue of the suckers of some enormous sea creature. 

“What in Kos’ name…” I muttered. 

“Rest easy, Church Boy.” Fwahe said, releasing her hold on my hood, “The real hunters will take care of the beasts while you’re off dreaming.” 

What manner of thing had been soundlessly slayed in my sleep I could not fathom. It must’ve been impossibly huge, bigger than the thing that killed Eros. It must’ve been bigger than the ship in its entirety. I couldn’t believe I’d slept through a battle of this magnitude. 

“You’re no hunter.” I returned. 

“Does being a Vileblood make it impossible for me to kill beasts?” She snarled. 

“No but-“ 

“Then I am a hunter.” She said. 

“Enough dallying Kohso- you’ve a job to finish!” Delphine shouted. 

“A-Aye!” I said, shaken by the shouting. I nearly lost my footing and fell face-first off the stack of crates. I returned to my task, hating the stains twice as much now that I knew the Vileblood had been the cause of them. Soap stung my scraped knees, making the last leg of my task the most unpleasant. Fwahe’s leering grin was also a leading contribution for my sudden contempt for the job. 

Still I completed the work without outward complaint. I dumped the soiled water over the side of the ship. Unlike the orange peels I couldn’t watch it drift away, the water mixed with itself and became indistinguishable on contact. Just another segment of swirling sea. I wrung out the sponge and what I could from the bottom of my robe. The mop was hung back on its peg and I returned my feet to their boots before heading up to Delphine again. 

“Not bad.” She assessed. 

“Thank you.” I said, “What exactly…left the deck in such a state?” 

The helmsman held up a hand, stalling her half of the conversation. She took a compass from her pocket. It was kept on a chain, much like a gentleman of position might keep his pocket watch. Delphine noted the position of the sun and the needle of her compass, turning the wheel a few degrees to the right before answering me. 

“It’s just like any city. The beasts come out at night and we hunters hunt them.” She informed. 

“I would like to aid in these hunts.” I said. 

Delphine shook her head, “That’s the Captain’s call.” 

“May I speak with her then?” I asked. 

Another shaking of the head, “Captain’s not seeing anyone today. She and Sereja have a raid on the company to plan, that will require most of her waking time. You’re fine cleaning decks and adjusting sails, no need to get tangled up in battles just yet.” 

“She’d sooner trust a Vileblood then a hunter of the Church?” I asked, unable to keep the disdain from my tone. 

Delphine definitely made note of it, “I’m not one to question the Captain, and if you’re smart you won’t either.” 

“Aye.” I sighed, “Apologies.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Delphine said, “There’s more you can help with. Go down below decks, Harker’s got a job for you.” 

I followed her instructions and spent the remainder of the day cleaning up from last night’s meal. I didn’t mind the work; I’d done dishes alongside my brothers countless times. Sister Veera liked to prescribe the task as punishment, but she never supervised. Nothing could be heard outside of the washroom, not over the splashing water as it poured in from the faucet. Washing dishes provided us with some privacy and a place to talk without the watchful eyes of the other brothers and sisters at our backs. Yilmarie was able to speak more freely, and would sometimes share ridiculous theories he had about the higher clergy. They were all hideously untrue and often mean spirited, but there was nothing like an inappropriate story to get a laugh out of Eros. 

Harker was good for conversation as well. She was happy to tell stories about the others while she washed dishes. She wasn’t particularly thorough about her task, nor excessively careful with the delicate china. There were times she scrubbed at teacups so hard they nearly shattered, and I further questioned how anything so fragile had managed to survive on the Searider Falcon. 

“So, Captain Roshin was tangled up with the Prestwick Company?” I asked. 

“Oh sure.” Harker said, “How else do you think she got to be Captain of the ship?” 

I could think of a hundred other ways that one could accomplish this task, but I didn’t want to rain on Harker’s parade. I wiped soap and water off a butter knife and nodded for her to continue. 

She took a theatrical approach to storytelling, enhancing important moments by jabbing a spoon into the air. She would also map out the location of people with a variety of half washed mugs and bowls, not that their position was ever important to the narrative. 

“So if this was Roshin’s camp,” Harker began placing a black bowl down on the counter, “This was the Prestwick Company’s ship.” 

The ship was represented by a glass gravy boat, which to its credit did have a similar silhouette. Harker slid it across the counter, allowing it to creep up on the marker for Captain Roshin’s camp. 

“They sailed in at night. Roshin belonged to a group of woodland hunters. It was an all-female band, like our ship…well until you got rescued.” She said, “She was rescued herself, no shame in being rescued. People in her town, before she joined with the woodlanders, would sacrifice some of their children to the snakes in the woods. They worshipped them, and this was encouraged by something called Madras. Roshin never really went into detail about what Madras was, but I suppose it was probably just the name of one of the gods. Anyway Roshin didn’t want to see her younger siblings die, and went into the woods in their stead. She fully expected to die but instead was rescued by some black-haired antler goddess.” 

“Antler goddess?” I asked. 

Harker nodded, picking up two sets of tongs and laying them against her hair, “They were woven into it. Like this.” 

Her story sounded more and more ridiculous by the second. “Okay.” I said. “Sure.” 

“Aye.” Harker agreed. “She was called Sid’he, and she had done this many times before. Taking in young things and caring for them. Roshin was older than some of the Sid’he’s charges in appearance, but they’d all been cut with blood and taught to hunt, so looks were deceiving.” 

This was a familiar phenomenon. Hunter’s blood changed us all and it was sometimes hard to tell just how old someone really was. Yearly celebrations like birthdays weren’t marked and it was common for hunters to lose track of their years. I had asked Alfred how old he was when I was younger, and he had been one of the ones who hadn’t kept a count. My young mind was baffled by this, as I was a seven-year-old constantly fighting to prove my maturity, but now that I’d been cut it didn’t matter half as much. I could understand the confusion Captain Roshin must’ve felt. “

She made a home for herself there, they all lived in the boughs of trees. Sid’he introduced them to other woodlander packs she knew of, and Roshin began to find a place in the hunting community. Additionally, she became smitten with her savior and found a place by her side, one she never wanted to leave.” 

With a dramatic sweep of her hand Harker shoved the gravy boat into the mug, unintentionally knocking both into the sink. The heavy ceramic handle knocked against my finger and I gnashed my teeth at the sudden pain. Harker winced and quickly apologized, but I waved her off. She tried to offer me a bandage but there was no blood or swelling, it was really nothing of consequence so I just asked for her to continue the story. She fussed over me a few moments longer before continuing. 

“Anyways, the Prestwick Company started to prey on woodlanders. It was a logical choice; I can see why they’d go after them. City hunters or church hunters tend to be in bigger groups, with more eyewitnesses around to see a kidnapping should one go down. Roshin was just out on the wrong hunting party at the wrong time, and her antler goddess wasn’t around to save her another time. Prestwick men swarmed her, sedating her with some infernal contraption called numbing mist. It took the life right out of her limbs. She couldn’t run from them. Next thing she knew she was on a ship.” Harker said, slapping a tray down on the counter. 

“That must have been what they used on me.” I said. 

“They use it on everyone. Nasty stuff. No doubt they used it to get the Vileblood too.” Harker agreed. 

“If it works on beasts.” I muttered. 

“What was that?” Harker asked. 

“She is a beast.” I said, adding another plate to a growing stack of cleaned dishes, “IS everyone except me forgetting that?” 

“No.” Harker said, “But when it came to it, you ran away from the Prestwick sailors and she stayed back to fight them.” 

I attacked another plate with a dishrag rather than acknowledge her point. Silence hung between us, but a grudge did no good. A good church hunter should be forgiving and admit their faults if there was cause for it. “Sorry.” I said. “I should’ve stayed and fought too.” 

Harker shrugged, “It’s not a big deal. I didn’t try to fight them when Roshin rescued me. I ran, same as anyone. It was different though, she was liberating an entire ship as opposed to sinking one. I really only ended up on the Searider Falcon by chance, but I’d been a city hunter before and worked well in a group. She had me out on deck before too long.” 

“I see.” I said, “So what happened when the Prestwick Company took Captain Roshin?” 

“She doesn’t like to go into much detail about that, and I can’t blame her.” Harker said, “But speaking from my own experience it isn’t pleasant. They take away your clothes and your badges, everything that was charmed or spelled to ward off beasts, it all gets tossed overboard. My hunter’s badges are at the bottom of the sea. They won’t use your names either. Everyone’s given a number. You get a Company uniform after that. Everything is black except for the Prestwick seal, which is just a blue shield with a gold letter P in the middle of it. You might’ve seen it on the flags.” 

I shook my head, “I didn’t notice one.” 

“To be fair, I guess they were working for the Prestwick Company, not actually a part of it. They might’ve flown their own flag, but that doesn’t really matter.” Harker continued, “They keep you below decks until nightfall, and everyone’s all chained to the ship somehow. By that time the sailors have made note of any troublemakers, and they threw one of the people I was captured alongside right over the side of the ship. We were all expecting a splash but instead we heard bones crunching. They let us peer over the side and there were these horrible fish people tearing him apart. It was dark but you could still see the water turning red.” 

“That’s horrible.” I said. 

She nodded. “We were taught to fight as a unit after that, with spears, tridents and all manner of other sea weapons. I speared one of the fish things who tore that boy apart, and stained the sea with its blood. They had arms, like humans and would try and crawl up the sides of the ship. We had to keep them from reaching the decks.” 

“If they gave you weapons, why not just use them to escape?” I asked. 

“They weren’t hunters’ weapons.” Harker said, “Everything they gave us was made of wood. Only Prestwick men had metal. They could slice our weapons in half. The only reason they even worked against beasts is because there were a lot of us. They’d thought this through Kohso, mutiny wasn’t possible. Even if we had been able to start a revolt, we would need their steel to break our chains. Wood couldn’t do it.” 

I instinctively rubbed my wrists, they were still bruised from the chains I’d worn. I understood her entirely, and was both horrified and astonished by the Prestwick Company’s methods. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say you were a coward or anything.” 

“No of course not.” Harker said, “You wouldn’t know unless you’d been through it. It’s…really strange and really scary. Facing beasts is one thing but the things in the sea aren’t like the ones on land. It always felt like they had the upper hand.” 

I was eager to find that out for myself. I wanted to hunt these beasts and see if they were really as difficult as they were made out to be. If I took a firsthand account and brought it back to the Church, I was sure they’d provide sailors a better solution then relying on slavery to keep their seas safe. Vicar Lanthem would be furious if he found out that this was going on. 

“So how were you rescued?” I asked. 

“Roshin had steel and stealth. One night she snuck on board, silent as a shadow and started slitting throats. Members of her crew passed real weapons around, and then we began to break loose. Most ran for the escape boats or took their revenge on the crew. I’m a hunter at heart, and the boat was being attacked by ocean beasts. I kept at my post trying to keep them from coming aboard and killing us. By the time I was sure they were all dead the raid was pretty much over. Roshin was pleased with my dedication and welcomed me aboard. I was hesitant at first, and asked to be taken home.” 

“Like me.” I said. 

She nodded, “On the way, we had to liberate more Prestwick ships. I realized that I liked that more than hunting in the city. The denizens aren’t a particularly thankful lot, but here I could see the results of my efforts. It felt more important. I asked to stay and she agreed, so here we are.” 

“Did she ever want to go back?” I asked. 

Harker shrugged. “She doesn’t talk about it much, but I’m sure she misses Sid’he. How could she not, she’s doing the same thing, saving those who are slated for awful fates.” 

“How did she escape?” I asked, “I mean there was no one to rescue her, right?” 

“Aye.” Harker said, “She had to take the ship that took her by force, and that was a great deal harder. She had to rally all of the captured hunters together, and everyone had to stay loyal and silent. She was lucky to have been one of Sid’he’s fighters, because most of the people on her ship were woodlanders. They trusted the name and they trusted her. She planned the whole thing out, got everyone into position one night and then, well, she and the hunters simultaneously choked the entire crew to death with their chains. It had to all happen at once, and without fail, and it did.” 

“The Ancient Ones must’ve been on her side.” I said. 

“Sure.” Harker said. “Anyway, after that they tossed their bodies overboard, the beasts were quite pleased I imagine. They took their best guesses at sailing the stolen ship and eventually found land. Most of the hunters went their separate ways eager to go back to the places they’d been taken from, but a lot of them were lost. I guess Roshin decided that she still had a job to do before she could go home. She won’t return to land until the Prestwick Company has fallen.” 

“When you take me home I will make efforts to assist you.” I said, “You will have the aid of the Church, I swear it.” 

“Thank you.” Harker said 

We were finished with the dishes at that point, piles of shining china lurked on every flat surface. Harker began to stow them in the cupboards and I lent my aid as best I could. It was a pain to have to question the location of each object, but the cabinets were set with metal brackets to prevent the dishes from shifting. Everything had to be stowed according to a master plan. 

“Away with you now.” Harker said, “We’ve finished cleaning and I’ve a mind to get everything dirty again. Dinner won’t repair itself.” 

“But I haven’t had lunch yet, and we’ve missed tea time altogether.” I said. 

Harker chuckled, “There’s some soup on the stove. I’m afraid tea is out of the question, our supply was exhausted and we haven’t found any more. Maybe we can purchase some when we take to port if the Prestwick ship’s liberation doesn’t take too long.” 

I grabbed one of the bowls I had cleaned and spooned some of the soup into it. Calling it soup was actually rather generous as the culinary concoction which boiled away on the stove was much closer to a stew or paste in consistency; thick and a bit gritty, but not altogether unpleasant. The taste was unique, something made with spices I hadn’t chanced to try before. The food was recognizable, it was largely made out of beans and rice with chunks of meat, either chicken or fish. I wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter, even with its strange texture and foreign taste it was satisfying, much more so than the orange Ratliff had thrown at me. 

I took my time eating it, being sure not to stain my robes. When I was done I washed my bowl and spoon, stowing them in their proper places. I had to duck and dodge my way around Harker who was already busy piling new dishes into the sink while she cooked. I didn’t want to step on her toes so I headed back up onto the deck. 

Ratliff and Delphine were having another argument, so I steered clear of that, making my way towards the ship’s mast. If we were heading towards land there was a chance it could be seen, and I was eager to get a glimpse of something besides the ocean. I got a firm grip on the railing and looked out into the distance as far as I could see, and there was nothing but waves on the horizon. 

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned around to find Captain Roshin standing behind me. 

“S-sorry Captain, Delphine was fighting and I didn’t want to interrupt, but if you’ve work for me to do-“ 

“No need to worry.” She replied calmly, “You’ve done your work well. Word travels fast on the ship and I’ve heard you wish to join in on tonight’s hunt. I took a break from my work with Sereja to find out if this was the truth. Do you wish to join us?” 

“Aye Captain.” I replied. 

“Rest up then, young hunter. We’ll be glad to have you with us tonight.” 

“Aye Captain!” I said, “I won’t let you down.” 

“I don’t expect you will.” She said, before turning on her heels and going back to the captain’s quarters. 

Now when I looked at the sea, I was no longer seeking land. I peered down into the depths, wondering what unseen monsters would come out on the hunt. I was excited to be hunting on Kos’ territory. She did rule the seas after all, and so I prayed for her blessing that I might prove myself a more sufficient hunter then the Vileblood I’d been caged with. If the Ancient Gods couldn’t prove a Church hunter more valuable than a monster, then things were far worse then I’d imagined. I hadn’t taken up a weapon since that night in Old Yharnam; I needed to prove that I could fight. It wasn’t just so that the crew would respect me, but I needed to respect myself. The last time I’d fought, I hadn’t been able to protect my closest friend. I was not going to let that happen again. Come nightfall, the only thing dying would be the beasts that lurked beneath the waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	6. The Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrival at the Choir headquarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always please let me know what you think, your feedback means the world to me!

Traveling was hard, sleep deprivation was worse. At first I had thought about asking Izaius or Callie for their assistance, but I stalled. I put off asking them and now the problem had gone on too long. To bring it up now would be embarrassing. 

“Kos almighty, I didn’t expect that you would tire so easily, Good Brother Yilmarie.” Izaius said. 

It was the third day of our journey and I’d gotten no more than an hour of sleep the night previous. “I’m just having trouble sleeping.” I told him. 

“The open road will do that to you, it’s a bit different without your feather bed huh?” He asked. 

“It’s not the bed that’s the problem.” I muttered back. 

He didn’t catch my complaints, and I was thankful. The blindfold caps did wonders to unify our party, but they seemed to dull the senses quite a decent bit. I had needed to repeat myself more than I was accustomed to, and it was becoming irritating. Still, despite some negative points I found my travels with the Choir to be fairly jovial. Izaius and Callie had fallen into routine with me, and we walked alongside each other towards the front of the pack. I wasn’t about to let Minimus think he’d won; and it was I, with aching feet who always insisted we carried on at the more troublesome speeds. 

All the elder members of the choir chalked it up to youthful arrogance and gave us tolerant smiles. 

That was something that never changed. You could go anywhere in the world and the old people would still think that they understood you. There was part of me that wanted to scowl back at their bemused faces, but I resisted. I already had Minimus to contend with, I hardly needed the upper Choir undermining me too. 

“The High Octave wishes to speak with you today.” Izaius informed me. “She travels in a carriage of course, so you’ll be able to have a rest while you chat.” 

Truth be told if anyone needed a rest it was him and Calliban. The two of them were shouldering their own packs as well as the stuff I’d taken with me. Every day they continued to help me with my luggage. Their shoulders must ache as much as mine did, but they showed no signs of slowing. Their pace was constant and they were unnaturally jovial about the whole process. 

“Course she does.” Callie replied, “We’ll be in Yhar’Ghul by nightfall, and the High Octave don’t like to waste time. She’ll expect you to get right to work.” 

“I expect the same of her.” I said, “We’ve already lost crucial time, she’s got to send out search parties as early as possible.” 

Izaius placed a hand on my shoulder. I turned to face him, and if not for the silver mask we would’ve been staring each other down, eye to eye. “We’re going to find him.” 

“Thank you.” I said. 

Izaius’ voice brimmed with confidence, as always. He was so firm in his convictions that you wanted to believe everything he said, but I harbored my doubts. About an hour after my companion’s forewarning, the carriage’s footmen fetched me and brought me along to the High Octave’s coach. I had never ridden inside one before and found it to be surprisingly spacious. There was even a small fold out table, on which lunch was waiting. 

“Do help yourself.” The High Octave said, “there’s plenty for us both.” 

“Thank you.” I replied, sliding onto the padded leather bench opposite her. The footmen closed the door behind me. The High Octave waited until she heard the click of the handle locking, and then removed her cap. 

She didn’t wait for me to start eating, but began to pick through the sandwiches for ones she liked. I waited for her to finish and then took one of my own. 

“I see you’ve been getting along with our novices quite well.” She said. 

“Yes, they’ve all been very kind.” I replied. 

“It’s nice to see you settling in. I wanted to speak with both you and Minimus, separately of course, before we arrive. Yhar’Ghul can take some adjusting too, and our methods may seem a bit strange at first, but we are working for the good of the Hunting Community. That is our top priority. Minimus is going to be trained in our own special ways of hunting, but you seem to be sharper of mind then of blade.” 

I nodded my agreement. I had no desire to hunt large monsters after the night in Old Yharnam. I would leave that to those with the lust for it, and stick to smaller specimens. 

“I was told that your incense works wonders for warding off beasts.” She said. 

“When I can get the mixture right.” I qualified, “I’ve been off a few times and then it only does good at stinking to high heaven and coagulating into waxy yellow sludge.” 

She chuckled, “Well you won’t be working by yourself, we have many fine scholars at our disposal. They should be able to prevent such incidents from occurring, and assist with cleaning up from them if they do.” 

“I’ll be glad of their assistance.” I said. 

“As useful as your incense is, we were hoping to apply your talents elsewhere. We seek, as do all others, a cure to this horrible scourge. There are those working at Byrgenwerth; your own brethren in the Upper Wards, even some across the Black Salt Sea - everyone wants an end to this plague. And you’ve shown an aptitude for planning battle and preventing attacks. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were adept at curing ailments as well.” 

It was a bold assumption and I cleared my throat in preparation. The differences between my work as a novice apothecary and the complexity of medical studies were astronomical. The High Octave had an entire community to run, sure, but the difference couldn’t possibly have eluded her. She must’ve known. 

“With all due respect,” I began. “I think you might not understand the differences between scientific disciplines.” 

The High Octave set her cup down, the clinking of dishware cutting me off. “You are right, I do not understand the extent of their complexities, but I do know the sort of person suited to these academic pursuits. You will be working as an assistant to one of our doctors, and under her tutelage you’ll come to learn all you need know. We wouldn’t throw you in blind.” 

I still had my doubts. Working in groups wasn’t my strongest skill, it never had been. Even when I could choose the people I was working with I preferred to tackle tasks on my own. Adjusting myself to someone else’s paces, using another person’s tools or relying on their calculations all seemed to be unnecessary variables. I didn’t care about losing some efficiency if it meant I could oversee every aspect of a project. 

Still the High Octave made some sound points. Ending the hunt would put a stopper in all of our problems. Brewing incense and concocting poisons was like stopping up a leak with rags; to find a cure would be to replace the faulty timber entirely, cutting off all fear of flooding. I would be proud to be a part of that, if the scourge was done away with so too could the hunters be disbanded and life return to peaceable pursuits. I had never known a life without the hunt, it would be a big change. 

“I’ll do my best.” I sighed. 

“Do not loose heart Brother Yilmarie.” The High Octave said, “You’ll be working with Doctor Lee, whose been making great strides lately. She’s got a nurse working with her, but both desperately need an assistant. I just wanted to caution you as to the nature of their work so you wouldn’t be shocked upon our arrival.” 

“I promise you I’m not one with a delicate constitution. I know dissecting cadavers is often a part of anatomical studies.” I said. “I don’t go feint at the sight of a dead body.” 

“What good hunter does?” She asked, “Cadavers are hardly worth mentioning, and her focus is far from them. We are more concerned with the living, and that’s what I wanted to discuss with you. To test remedies, we obviously need suitable subjects.” 

“Yes, that seems fairly standard.” I said. 

She cleared her throat and continued, “Our supply is coming in from an organization called the Prestwick Company. They are well known for procuring things that are difficult to obtain.” 

I had never heard of them before, but it seemed natural that the Choir would need a supplier. The corner apothecary had always managed to stock whatever I had need of, but there were materials mentioned in texts that were beyond their abilities. Some scholars had theorized that the blood of the ancient gods, or mold from their tombs was the key to purging the cursed blood. No one had been able to verify these claims as they whereabouts of the Gods’ tombs had been concealed years ago; but this might be the kind of stuff experienced merchant companies would have no trouble acquiring. If the organization they supplied was anything less than the Choir, I might have suspected snake oil and swindlers, but everyone knew better than to cross these hunters. To do so would be all but signing your own death warrant. 

“Saves me the trouble of foraging.” I said. 

She chuckled, “You wouldn’t be able to find what we’re after- or at least nowhere near as much as we needed if you went looking by yourself. The subjects we require- all volunteers I assure you, might put you off your task.” 

“Volunteers?” I asked. 

She nodded, “You’ll meet them all, rather you’ll be introduced I suppose. They won’t be able to talk to you, as they’ve all taken vows of silence; devoting their lives to the cause.” 

“Just what kind of-“ 

I was silenced by the rattling of the door handle. The High Octave hurriedly replaced her cap, tucking a stray stand of hair behind the mask just as the door came open. 

“Begging your pardon, but the other brother you sent for has arrived, ma’am.” The footman announced. 

Grinning up at me from the ground was Minimus. I glared at him. It was pure coincidence that he’d come by in the middle of a particularly interesting conversation; but it felt malicious. He was always interrupting things at the worst times, striving to inconvenience me with every breath. Now it came without effort. He dipped his head in a respectful nod to the High Octave then slid onto the bench beside me. 

“Please help yourself.” She said to him, as the footman closed the door. 

“Don’t mind if I do.” Minimus said, grabbing a sandwich that I had been eyeing. I had plans to eat it after finishing the one on my plate, but now it was not to be. 

“Anyways,“ The High Octave continued, “There are a few things you should know about Yhar’Ghul before we get there. First off I want to warn you not to speak to the denizens and not to go outside without wearing a mask. We’ve worked very hard to generate an air of authority and anonymity within the Choir; and maintaining that is key. The denizens are very respectful and unlikely to give you any trouble. Secondly, there are a large number of tunnels running below the city, mostly collapsed sewers and broken down holding cells. Please for your own safety do not go poking around in them.” 

“Yil’s the sewer rat, not me.” Minimus defended. 

“They’re dangerous, we haven’t explored them. There could be beasts down there, or just faulty roofs and broken floors. Either way it’s best to avoid them, you’ve no reason to go down there in the first place.” She continued, “And thirdly, try not to get lost. Yilmarie’s already made some friends and I’m sure they’ll help show him around, I’m sure they won’t mind taking you under their wing as well Minimus.” 

He nodded, “Sure. Sounds fine to me.” 

“Is that all we need to know?” I asked. 

“No. There really is so much to this city, but the best way to learn is to experience it for yourselves. Just as you were Izaius’ guide around Yharnam, so too will he be yours in Yhar’Ghul. Before long you’ll know the ins and outs.” She replied. 

“And you’ll send out the search parties for Kohso?” I asked. 

She nodded, “Naturally. Minimus might even be going out on one or two of them, depending on how quickly we are able to find your brother. I hope he returns with all haste.” 

“Yeah I’ll keep a close eye out for him.” Minimus assured me. 

I didn’t feel particularly comforted by the sinister tone he said it in. Having Minimus on search parties was a double edged sword. On the one hand he knew what Kohso looked like, and would be able to spot him in a crowd. On the other hand, he likely saw Kohso as competition and might not be willing to jeopardize his position with the Church and the Choir by returning Lanthem’s favorite. I wasn’t even sure if he was smart enough to work out sabotage as an option, I may have been giving him too much credit. He was still a year my junior and had been spooked by the Amygdala statue in Lanthem’s study. 

“See that you do.” She said. 

We went the rest of the way in the carriage with her. I was unable to ask the questions that were nagging at me now that Minimus was here. The conversations were drearily dull. Minimus asked about hunting and what kind of beasts were common in the area. It was useful information; I’d grant him but it could’ve been gained at any time. When was the next opportunity either of us would have to speak with the High Octave? 

It was a little past noon when we arrived in Yhar’Ghul and it was every bit as large and magnificent as described. I had thought that Yharnam was a big city, but it had nothing on this place. The carriage rattled down a path bordered on either side by enormous buildings with spires and wide arched doorways. A network of bridges connected the streets and buildings overhead, everything all linked together like a spider’s web. Everywhere there was activity, and I spied as many of the blindfold-masked Choir members as I did denizens. Everyone stood aside as our party passed through. 

There wasn’t a hint of a building that wasn’t designed by a grand architect. Even the open air courtyards and market places had an air of sophistication about them. Everything here seemed to have been planned down to the last detail. Yharnam expanded as its population increased; with new buildings being constructed as needed so that the city became a sprawling decentralized rat’s nest with narrow alleyways and crumbling facades. Here there were defined living spaces, with ample room between them for the passing. There were no clotheslines stretched overhead, dripping drying laundry dropping water on your head. I scanned the streets but saw no beggars, and nothing resembling a charlatan. There were no barkers, not a man like Thayne Gallimore to be found. 

Kohso would’ve loved it. 

To me it felt horrifically open. It was as though I were a rat dropped in a maze and there was some great pair of eyes looking down at me and recording what I did. There was nowhere to hide in this city. Everyone could see everything. 

The journey ended in a large plaza, surrounded by balconies. They bordered a large door, which the High Octave informed me was the entrance way to the study rooms and lecture halls that I’d be doing most of my work in. Before we were allowed out of the carriage she removed Choir robes and caps from a suitcase beneath her bench. Minimus and I slipped them on over our church robes, neither one of us willing to disrobe in front of the other; let alone the head of the Choir. 

I was surprised by how well I could see through the mask. Tricks of polish, stains and careful metal work all made it seem like the wearer was without sight, when in fact you were hardly hampered at all. There were hoods that had obstructed my view more than the mask did. We stepped out of the carriage and on instinct I scanned the crowd for Izaius. There was no way of knowing which of the hundreds of masks his face was under. 

Most of the Choir had only come along to the plaza to accompany us. As soon as the High Octave, Minimus and myself had made our way through the crowd and they broke off and filed away. Sections split to go up the stairs and along the balconies where they further branched off to bridges and pathways that took them wherever they were bound. An even larger drove passed under the arch through which we’d come and back out into the street. We were white spiders on a black web, the dark cobblestones familiar to those who’d spent their lives in the sparkling city. 

The great doors of the academic building were opened and I stepped into the large hall. Everyone was different once inside, awash in the color and disarray that overworked students inevitably carried with them. Choir robes were tied around waists or tossed over shoulders as the building’s occupants seemed to favor a more subdued grey uniform that offered greater mobility. Professors glared down at them from the upper balconies, their blindfold caps having a suspiciously scholarly air afforded to them by silver tassels that hung from the pointed tips of the cap. 

Shelving units overflowing with jars of supplies lined the hallways. Energetic lowerclassmen raced from the doors of the lecture halls to the cabinets, unlocking them with their instructors’ keys and hurriedly returning to their studies with the forgotten supply now safely in hand. 

“This is where you’ll be working, at least for the most part.” The High Octave said to me. “I really need to see Minimus off and organize some search parties with the patrol hunters, but I can wait for Doctor Lee or her nurse to arrive if you’d like.” 

Finding Kohso was of far greater importance then having someone familiar to wait with. I waved the High Octave away as I continued to watch the harried scholars rush to and fro. I had to sidestep to avoid collision more the once, but I tried to look as obviously out of place as possible. It wasn’t hard to accomplish. 

I was so enthralled by the bee-hive like activity that I didn’t notice the nurses’ approach. Even if I had seen the nurse coming I probably wouldn’t have been able to pick out who they were. This was not due to the blindfold cap, the nurse didn’t wear one, but due to the fact that it was a male nurse. I’d seen male medics and male doctors and surgeons and other such professionals but every nurse I’d come across was a woman. I was sure there was no reason why a man couldn’t be a perfectly adequate nurse; I just hadn’t been expecting it. 

He had to actually tap me on the shoulder to get my attention. Black hair that looked like it had been cut by a particularly uncoordinated albeit determined lawnmower. He wore a student’s uniform with a red apron over it. Around his neck on a black ribbon was an iron cross, all of its points equidistant from each other; the symbol of one who worked with medicine. 

“Excuse me, are you Brother Yilmarie?” He asked, tapping me with one long skeletal finger. 

“Yes.” I said 

The instant I confirmed my identity relief spread across his anxious face. 

“Excellent.” He said, “Please do come with me, Doctor Lee is expecting you.” 

The nurse led me down the hall, nimbly sidestepping the onslaught of scholars. Every once in a while he’d nudge me a half-step to the right or left, guiding me safely through the stampede. He turned over his shoulder and said, “I’m Peter by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you.” I replied. 

I scanned the contents of the cabinets as we went past them. I was only able to take quick glances but they were brimming with things that even an apothecary would consider strange. There were glass jars full of eyeballs in watery yellow liquid, drawers full of nothing but chains and rows upon rows of powdered pigments. A series of strange animal teeth on a string caught my eye, I wanted to see if I could identify the creatures they had come from but Peter’s pace was a brisk one. The High Octave had specifically warned against becoming lost. I would have to come back and survey the supplies later. 

Doctor Lee’s room was a hard one to find. Every door Peter opened led down a hallway full of more doors. I should’ve kept a count of how many we’d come through but I was too distracted by being in a new place. The door we finally came to rest at had a frosted glass window in it. Her name, Doctor Joan Lee was inscribed on the glass in golden lettering. Peter took a key from his apron pocket and unlocked the door. 

The smell of disinfectant overwhelmed my nostrils as we stepped inside. There was an odd undertone of peaches mingled with the harsh stinging scent that furthered the unfamiliarity of the place. The room was a large one, with several other doors branching off of it and a trapdoor hatch near the back. It must’ve been part of the tunnel system the High Octave had talked about, but now it was secured with a heavy iron clasp. The wooden floor was well scrubbed and each of the metal examination tables had clean sheets laid over them, as white and pure as any set of church robes. Trays waited nearby, littered with gleaming silver needles and forceps. Several empty blood transfusion stands were lined up against the wall, their glass canisters scrubbed clean of all signs of what they once held. 

“Doctor Lee?” Peter called replacing the key in his pocket and pulling the door closed behind him. I heard a click as it locked into place. 

The handle of a door towards the back of the room rattled and then depressed. I got my first impression of the doctor as she stepped into the main room. Her hair hadn’t been given the same sporadic snipping that Peter had been subject too. It was cut even all the way around, and was a dark brown that could be mistaken for black. She was dressed in choir robes and apron, but the red in her clothes had not been put in by any dyes. Copper, dark brown and fresh crimson formed mottled mosaics over the cloth that bespoke of the bloody nature of her job. I was no soft-stomached maiden when it came to the sight of blood; but in the sterile cleanliness of the peach-scented examination room it stuck out like a lighthouse in a stormy sea. 

“What is it now Peter?” She asked, adjusting silver spectacles. Her adjustment caused a smear of blood to further distort the already filthy glass. 

“Your new assistant has arrived, the one The High Octave sent word of.” Peter said giving me a nudge forward. 

Doctor Lee’s eyes looked me over from top to bottom. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Lee.” I said, giving her a stiff church bow, “My name is Yilmarie.” 

She smiled, “Of course, how silly of me. I’d lost track of the days. We’re happy to have you, I’ve been so overwhelmed I’ll be glad of the help.” 

She offered her hand for me to shake. It was awash in wine-red blood, giving her gloves where she had worn none. I eyed it skeptically. Doctor Lee chuckled and wiped the arm on her apron, which was already dripping. It did nothing but smear the coating further up her arm. 

Rather than endure the awkward pause of an extended hand I had no intention of shaking, I dropped into another bow. She chuckled, returning the bow with one of her own. 

“Just give me a moment to change and I’ll go over things with you.” Doctor Lee said disappearing back through the door. As it was closing behind her she called out “Oh and Peter, do clean the floors again. I think I’ll need you to make a run to the laundry as well.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Peter said, opening a supply cupboard and grabbing a sponge and bucket. 

“Do you want any help with that?” I asked, watching as the clear water in Peter’s bucket went red. 

“Best not, Doctor Lee gave me the task. You’ll figure it out soon enough, but I recommend to do only what you’re told. Do not shirk from your tasks, you hear?” He cautioned. 

I nodded and stood back against the wall while Peter worked. He had started with the spot that Doctor Lee was standing on, but he didn’t stop there. She’d told him to clean the floor and by Kos, he was going to clean the whole thing afresh even the parts that hadn’t been soiled. There were strange sounds coming from the room the doctor had entered. This was one of solid wood, there was no frosted glass to look through. I was very curious as to what was letting so much blood, but it seemed my burning questions would be further forestalled. She took her time. The sounds behind the door died down before she emerged. 

When she entered there wasn’t a speck of blood on her. Fresh robes and apron, this one right in contrast to Peter’s red, looked as fresh as the day they were made. She too wore the equidistant cross emblem on a ribbon around her throat, and her face was now obscured behind the blindfold cap. 

“Sorry you had to see me in such a state.” Doctor Lee apologized, pulling the door closed behind her, “Our work can get messy you know.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t.” I replied, “There must have been some mistake. I tried to tell the High Octave but she was not to be dissuaded. I regret to inform you that I have no experience in any kind of medicinal capacity.” 

“Don’t worry about that.” Doctor Lee said, “So long as you’ve a willing mind we’ll teach you everything you might need to know. Your first few tasks will be dreadfully dull I’m afraid; as you’ll have to become proficient before we allow you to work directly on the patients.” 

“Yes I am rather curious as to the exact nature of the work you want me to do.” I said. 

“Curiosity is a good thing.” Doctor Lee said, but rather than lead me through the door that she had changed behind, she took me through one on the left. This was solid wood just as the other, and led into a room with lots of tables and supply cabinets. It seemed like some sort of preparation room, exactly the kind of place that an assistant would be found. 

“This is where you’ll spend most of your time.” Doctor Lee informed leading me over to a table full of familiar things. There were beakers and volumetric flasks neatly lined up next to sets of measuring spoons and a copper scale. “Since you were a proficient apothecary we’ll be relying on you to make most of the medicines we’ll be using, I trust that’s not too far from familiar territory?” 

“Not at all.” I said running my hand over the boiling cauldron’s rim. 

“Excellent.” She said. 

The doctor began to skim a shelf full of books, running her fingers along the spines before coming to land on a thick volume bound in black leather. She lodged her fingernail on the tip of the spine and pried it free. She set the book down next to the other equipment on the counter. The book’s cover was decorated with a grid, neatly painted on in white. In each square of the grid was a different symbol. 

“This belonged to the Runesmith, Caryll.” Doctor Lee informed, “It was her own private recipe book. A lot of it is indecipherable because she liked to write in codes and riddles, but what was left plain is invaluable to us. We’re working on compiling a list of recipes, a medical lexicon of sorts. It’s a side project, not vital to the work I’m doing at the moment but I thought this would be a good first assignment for you.” 

The doctor pulled open a drawer and removed another book. This one had no markings on the cover and was about half the size of the first. She set it down along with an inkwell and a quill. 

“You will transcribe all the recipes you can find neatly in this book, and then begin the process of testing them. We will provide you with any material you might need. Make sure everything is legible, as this will be copied multiple times over so that the methods of medicine and blood purification can be better shared between hunters. The Executioners have had many troubles purifying blood while on the move, as have the hunters of hunters. We should lose hunters to beasts not bad brewing. Can you do that?” 

“Yes of course. I’ll set to work straight away.” I said taking the Runesmith’s tome and flipping it open to the first page. 

Doctor Lee chuckled. She put a finger under my chin and turned my attention away from the text, directing me to look at her. “Not so fast my eager young apprentice. There is more I need show you before your work begins. And you’d do best to remember to show some respect around here Yilmarie. I wouldn’t be so casual as to speak without appellations now.” 

“Yes ma’am.” I said. 

“That’s better.” She replied. 

She led me back into the main room. Peter had the floor clear and shining just as before, only now the nurse was nowhere to be found. Once again Doctor Lee went past the door that had sparked my curiosity and passed the room to a door on the right. This led into a small vestibule which branched into three rooms. 

“This will be your new quarters.” Doctor Lee said opening the closest door. “Peter and I have the other two. I would advise against poking through our things should you be of the type with wandering thoughts and hands.” 

“Yes ma’am.” I said, “Well, I mean no ma’am. I’m no thief if that’s what you’re on about.” 

“I haven’t met many Yharnamites.” Doctor Lee said as she opened the door to my room, “But their denizens are a lot rowdier than ours. I’m sure you won’t disappoint me and further cloud my judgement of that city.” 

“Of course not ma’am.” I said stepping inside. 

The room was larger than the one I’d had in Odeon Chapel, with higher ceilings and a much nicer bed. There was a wardrobe, its open doors showcasing a supply of neatly folded scholar’s robes for me to wear. One of the shelves held a blindfold cap. Laid out on my pillow was a cross on a ribbon, just like the one that my colleagues wore. I assumed that, unlike Kohso’s well-meaning Yuletide gifts, I best not lose this one. 

“They’re going to bring your things along shortly.” Doctor Lee informed, “Settle in and change into your robes.” 

“Yes ma’am.” I replied. 

She left me in the room. I heard the door close behind her but it did not lock. I quickly changed clothes. The scholar’s robes were nearly a perfect fit, though the pants were a hair too big and the sleeves a touch to small. It was nothing I couldn’t live with. They were much preferable to something like oversized robes. I wouldn’t catch myself tripping on my new outfit. I slipped the cross on and went out. 

Doctor Lee was waiting for me. “You look a proper Choir Scholar now.” 

“Yes ma’am.” I agreed. 

We went back into the main room. There were more sounds emanating from beyond the door. I couldn’t help myself from asking, “Doctor Lee, just what exactly is behind there, exactly?” 

“You’ve work to do now.” She said, completely ignoring my inquiry. “Peter will fetch you when dinner’s ready. Work well, work hard, and you’ll prove a fine assistant.” 

“Yes ma’am.” I said, obediently heading into the supply room. I closed the door behind me and pulled a stool up to the counter. Whatever Doctor Lee was concealing she wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret forever. The Choir seemed fairly confident in their system of locks, everything seemed to require a key. There were ways around locks, and I knew a great deal of them. Perhaps Doctor Lee was right to have her suspicions of Yharnamites. 

Despite the door’s mystery pestering at me, I set about deciphering Caryll’s journals with all haste. There were numerous runes and ciphers, but nothing that seemed impossible to solve. I scoured the room for spare paper, not wanting to soil the notebook with figures. Doctor Lee had been adamant about wanting things done neatly. There wasn’t a thing out of place, and I soon located the spare parchment. 

I lost all bearing on time as I puzzled over the strange runes, determined to prove myself a worthy scholar to all of the Choir’s many skeptics. I was sure they wouldn’t all be as encouraging as Izaius and the High Octave had been. Despite my determination the runes were difficult. Caryll must have gone so far as to create her own language, possibly using another existing one as a base. There were few repeated runes, the only ones I had a firm grip on were the ones she used as a signature. I knew it to mean Caryll and hoped that in time that would be enough to break down the entire code. 

The ciphers I managed to get through pretty easily. There was nothing special about them. A few had shifted letters or were written backwards or upside down. There was one with all the words in it scrambled, so even after decrypting it there was more work to be done, but it was almost like a game. As I delved deeper through the Runesmith’s writing I got a sense for who she was. I felt that if I had known her we might have gotten along fairly well, but the dates in the book were old, even factoring the unusual lifespans gifted to hunters by blood ministrations, I doubted whether she would still live. 

True to the doctor’s word, Peter came to fetch me for dinner. I hadn’t noticed the lateness of the hour, and Doctor Lee’s quarters were far from the clamor of the scholars. I didn’t notice the noise dying down as their classes let out. 

We had to stop by our quarters and cover our heads with the blindfold caps. The building where the members of the Choir ate was not the same one we dwelled in. Yhar’Ghul at dusk was quiet and pensive. The Choir traversed only the uppermost bridges; coating the third tier of the city white. They were an undulating handkerchief dropped by some great beast. The setting sun dyed the city gold and all of the denizens that passed below me moved slowly but with purpose. They would no doubt be locking themselves inside before the hunt, sealing things up for want of protection. The Choir would no doubt provide. 

Their dining hall made the Healing Church’s look like a table at a half-rate inn. There was no long running banquet table for everyone to crowd in at, but rather a series of smaller tables scattered throughout a massive open air courtyard. A balcony surrounded the area, the upper echelon of the Choir preferred to dine from above, looking down at their junior members as though we were players of a theater in the round. The walls were thick and the doors were heavy. No denizen was allowed inside, for almost none of the Choir members could manage to eat and wear the blindfold cap at the same time. It wouldn’t be an impossible task to accomplish but one rife with unnecessary complications. 

“Good Brother Yilmarie! Over here!” 

I had hardly been in the dining hall for thirty seconds when he spotted me, waving me over to his table. There were several other Choir members seated with him. I recognized Minimus, but the rest of Izaius’ tablemates were new to me. 

“I’ll leave you to your friends then.” Peter said. 

He was gone before I could invite him to join us. I took the seat the Choir novice offered me, sitting down beside him. “Allow me to make introductions.” Izaius began, “My friends this is Good Brother Yilmarie, he’s come from the Healing Church, just as Good Brother Minimus.” 

“Hello.” I said. 

“Capital, could always use more of those Healing Church chaps on my patrols. Good reliable lads they are.” The speaker was a man a head taller than any hunter I’d ever seen before. He’d forsaken Choir attire completely and was dressed in a motley collection of garish fabrics, topped off by an emerald frock coat made of crushed velvet. “Patrol Sargent Garrick, at your service, sah!” 

“He’s going to be leading the patrol Good Brother Minimus is heading out on.” Izaius explained. 

Garrick grinned, “Spot on, lad. And we’ll be keeping a lookout for that lost compatriot of yours. He’s bally well bound to turn up somewhere.” 

“Thank you.” I said. 

The girl to his left stood up next. She had a yellow ribbon in her hair. She dropped into a bow which I returned. “Good Evening, Brother Yilmarie. I’m Odette Southill, professor of the arcane for the Choir. I do not know if our scholarly pursuits will cross paths but should you need any help with matters of a dubious and archaic nature I’d be glad to assist. Izaius has told me you’re a promising student.” 

I was surprised she called herself a professor, for she didn’t look nearly so old to have earned the title. I wouldn’t have put her a day over twenty-three, but her eyes were old. A lot of hunters were like that. Blood ministration could forestall aging a good deal, but it never worked on the eyes. Odette’s couldn’t lie. 

“He oversells me ma’am, I’m nothing but a novice.” I replied, “But I would be glad of your help. I’ve been looking into the writings of Runesmith Caryll for Doctor Lee and there is a lot that I don’t understand.” 

“Come by my office if Doctor Lee gives you a spare moment, and we’ll look it over together.” Odette said. 

Last to be introduced was Crane, a novice like Izaius. He was also a poet and was currently too absorbed in trying to find a rhyme to hold a conversation. 

“Have to forgive him, rather funny lot poets are.” Garrick advised. “But wonderful to have around on a rainy day.” 

“Oh I agree.” I said, “I met Callie earlier. We tell no tales of Hari Harel at the Healing Church but I quite enjoyed hers.” 

Garrick exchanged shocked looks with Izaius. “I know; I was just as astounded.” The Choir novice laughed. 

More discussions of the injustice due to lack of stories circulated before our food arrived. More members of the choir brought it to us, loading the table up with a variety of choices. Izaius seemed to know most of them, and they knew him. One of them even ran off to fetch a teapot, knowing the novice was partial to particular brews. I had expected a much less leisurely experience but there were no overdrawn prayers or sermons before we were able to dine. We ate as the food was brought to us, and it felt delightfully devious to set most of the regimented Healing Church manners aside. Izaius ate with knife and fork, as neatly as any young lord or lady might. Crane on the other hand picked at a pile of roasted pork, occasionally popping some in his mouth but mostly just moving it around for show. Garrick ate neatly, but ate everything. 

“So how are you finding Yhar’Ghul?” Odette asked. 

I was about to answer her but Minimus spoke up before I had the chance. “It’s been most welcoming.” 

She smiled at him, “I’m glad to hear it. You must be eager for the chance to fight alongside the Choir’s hunters.” 

He nodded, “But your arcane studies sound interesting too. I wouldn’t say no to a glance at the divine.” 

She chuckled. I strained to keep my jaw from dropping. The audacity of the little devil, we had not been in the city a full day and he was making unseemly advances already. “You’ll be welcomed anytime Brother Minimus.” She assured him. 

The rest of the evening felt like an uncomfortable contest between the two of us. I toyed with leftover fish bones while attempting to keep my audience more entertained then Minimus could. The problem was he had spent his last few months out on the hunt, whereas I’d confined myself to root cellars and tunnels in pursuit of better brewing material. Mushroom hunts would never capture anyone’s attention like a suspenseful tale of the chase could. 

They were a forgiving audience though, and did not portray their liking to anyone in particular. Izaius encouraged the both of us to tell our tales. Odette was an ideal listener, always gasping and laughing where it was appropriate to do so. 

“And then it turned out the shopkeeper had the deathcap mushroom all along he was just half-blind and kept confusing them with webcap mushrooms.” I concluded, ending yet another hopeless attempt at a humorous anecdote. 

Izaius burst into heart chuckles, and his companions followed. They were all a second too late for it be genuine. Crane hadn’t laughed at anything, and it seemed he hadn’t been listening to anything we’d been saying. 

“Of course it really was an understandable mistake.” I said when their obligatory cacophony died down. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve mistook one mushroom for another to disastrous results. I’m a less of a calamity then I once was though.” 

Crane’s head suddenly jolted up. “Odeon Almighty that’s it!” He looked to me with shining eyes, sparkling green and gold in the candlelight. “That novice is a proper genius he is.” 

“Pardon me?” I asked. 

“Calamity is precisely the word I’d been searching for.” 

The poet suddenly became so animated and talkative that the table was swept into things as well. We discussed nothing but obscure words and strange phraseologies for the rest of our meal. I had read a great many and brought to light many ancient things that hadn’t been dusted off for proper use in lifetimes. Crane was grateful for them all and scribbled down all those he hadn’t known, plying me for definitions. 

To the others it became a game, trying to offer up words the learned novice had never known before. He must’ve read a great deal for there was very little he did not know, but he was voracious for more of it. Minimus wasn’t able to contribute a damn thing, though Odette offered up the most of any of us. Her scholarly pursuits were brimming with old language, words that hunters of a bygone era had learned from gods, written down and forgotten the instant the ink dried. 

When Peter came to collect me the poet insisted on shaking my hand, thanking me profusely for helping his poem along. I asked him to come visit me if he had the time, assuring him I would very much like to hear his finished piece. With hands stained black I returned to the doctor’s quarters. 

“I do hope your work isn’t as messy as your hands.” Peter said, “I really hate wipin’ up spilled ink. Stains like the devil.” 

“Oh, that was from the poet.” I explained. 

“Master Crane?” He asked. 

“The very same.” I confirmed. 

Peter nodded knowingly. “Well it’s back to work for the both of us.” He said unlocking the door to Doctor Lee’s main room. “Will you be needing anything?” 

“Nothing whatsoever.” I assured him, eagerly returning to my space in the supply room. 

I was rather shocked to find the doctor bent over my table, reading over my notes. The notebook lay fresh and untouched nearby, flipped several pages forward. I cleared my throat, hoping it would grab her attention, even if the sound of the door opening hadn’t. 

She began speaking, but didn’t look up from the table, as her fingers continued to prowl through my papers. “Welcome back Yilmarie.” 

“Hello ma’am.” I replied, taking a step towards her. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My fingers twitched, I wanted to brush her hands away. I despised my work being looked at before it was ready, especially since I hadn’t even begun to do what she asked. 

“You’re quite the curious one aren’t you?” she asked, plucking a page from the pile and scanning its contents more closely. 

“Yes ma’am.” I replied. 

“Curious enough to pry into our Runesmith’s private affairs?” She asked. 

“Well to be fair, I was already given the book to read so it was already kind of pried into if-“ 

She cut me off, “Yes or no?” 

“Yes ma’am.” I sighed. 

She set the paper down. Heeled boots clicked across the tiles as she came closer to me. The distance between us evaporated in seconds. I tensed; not sure what kind of punishment to brace for, but bracing all the same. I turned away from her. 

“Excellent.” She said, turning my face back to her, her fingers finding their perch under my chin. 

“Ma’am?” I asked squinting in confusion. 

“Yilmarie, the kind of work I am engaged in requires a profound curiosity, and no small amount of deviation from that which might be considered moral. I had my doubts, you being a hunter for the Healing Church and all, but you’ve already started to pry beyond where you were bid. I couldn’t be more pleased.” 

Nothing was coming to me, nothing but sincerity and encouragement. Questions begged their way onto my lips but none were persistent enough to make it past them and into the open air. The doctor’s fingers left and replaced themselves on my shoulder. She steered me through the door, back into the main room. We stood in front of the door she’d been bloodied behind. 

Doctor Lee unlocked the door and held it aside for me to enter. I couldn’t begin to fathom what I might find beyond it, but I stepped inside all the same. The air that hit me was cold, and the room was small. Everything was tiled in white, scrubbed until they shimmered. A few operating tables were lined up against the far wall. They had heavy leather straps bolted to them for securing patients. I’d heard of things like this being used in insane asylums. In person they seemed much crueler then I’d pictured. 

As disquieting as these tables were they were nothing compared to the iron trapdoor on the far side of the room. Criss-crossing iron chains ran all over it, padlocked and positioned with such intricate security it was dizzying. There were dozens of them. 

“I hadn’t expected to introduce you to the children so soon.” Doctor Lee said. 

“Children, ma’am?” I asked. 

She removed her cap, setting it upside down on one of the operating tables. She took a shimmering silver key out of the cap, boldly disregarding the concealment of its hiding place. She didn’t care if I knew about it now. 

“I haven’t had time to prepare them.” Doctor Lee continued. She knelt by the trapdoor and with practiced ease began to undo the padlocks. The rat’s nest of iron links was indecipherable to me, but came second nature to the doctor. She reached for every lock in turn, deftly seeking out the necessary keyhole without the slightest strain. 

“Them, ma’am?” I asked. 

She slid the last of the chains free, and snapped the door’s metal handle into place. She bent her weight against it until it shifted and popped free. There was no fog or steam rising from it, so my immediate dread that it was a portal beyond was quickly dismissed. I couldn’t account for why my mind always raced to such illogical possibilities when confronted with mysteries like this, but it did. 

“After you.” Doctor Lee said, giving a sweeping gesture that directed me to the rungs of an iron ladder. 

I swallowed my dying courage, collecting what was left in the pit of my stomach. I made every effort to let curiosity cloud my mind as I made my descent. When my feet hit the ground I found the area I arrived in to be strangely familiar. The floors wall and ceiling were all cobblestone and writhe with arches and curves. I was in a series of snaking tunnels, quite possibly the system the High Octave had explicitly told me not to wander around in. 

“I don’t think I’m allowed here, ma’am.” I called up as she came down. 

“Nonsense.” Doctor Lee said. She lit a lantern at her hip, shedding more light on our surroundings. “You’re my assistant are you not?” 

“Yes ma’am.” I replied. 

“Well then you can’t expect me to care for them by myself.” She said. 

“If you’d please stop speaking in riddles ma’am,” I said unable to keep the irritation from my tone, “Just who do you mean?” 

“The subjects, of course.” She said holding her lantern out deeper into the room. 

Suddenly I saw them, dozens of eyes reflecting the flames back at me. I took a hesitant step forward, prompted by a push from the doctor. Every one of their mouths were covered, none of them made a sound. It made it worse to be amongst them; dozens of soundless bodies. As they came into better focus I realized that each wore a metal half-mask, the exact reverse of the blindfold cap, these only covered their mouths and noses; small holes in the metalwork were the only fathomable air ways. Unlike the Choir’s masks these ones had a connected chain, the links writhing like so many sinister serpents as they moved. Some were in cages, but most were close enough to touch me. Some had skin covered in sores, some scars and some things I was yet unable to identify. 

“Well go on Yilmarie, say hello.” Doctor Lee instructed, “They might’ve taken their vows of silence but you haven’t. You wouldn’t want to be rude now, would you?” 

I had mere seconds to decide how to play my cards. I could be truthful and own up to the horror and nausea I felt at being down here and seeing the poor wretches the doctor had imprisoned. I could do that, or I could lie. If I maintained appearances there was a chance, a high chance even that Doctor Lee would buy what I was selling. It was the only course to take, for I feared that to show my genuine distaste would land me a mask and chain alongside the captives. 

“Hello.” I said. My voice squeaked. 

Their bodies shifted, light flickering in their eyes. They were like so many tiny mirrors reflecting pin-pricks of what they saw back. The iridescent sheen in their gaze, a result of the lack of light was deeply unsettling. I still think I would prefer it to their genuine gaze, a thousand different emotions all craning to get closer to me would somehow be worse. 

“Come on,” Doctor Lee said stepping deeper into her prison and motioning for me to follow, “They’ll want to meet their new Brother.” 

“B-b-brother ma’am?” I stammered. 

She chuckled, “Brother of the church I meant.” 

I wasn’t so sure she had, but I couldn’t afford to risk lingering. I followed her. There chains were longer then I would’ve thought proper, they afforded the prisoners so much movement. My opinion of them was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the more we passed the more confused I became. On the one hand they might be innocent victims, workhouse kids led astray. Such things were not unheard of. Not a one of them was older than twenty and there was a good mix of boys and girls. Even in this quantity and in a city this sparkling there was sure to be corruption and children tended to fall through the cracks and get caught up in the worst of it. 

On the other hand, they could be dangerous. I believed this far less so then my first theorem but Doctor Lee might be keeping them here for a reason. I took no stock in them being volunteers or members of the church committed to vows of silence. They didn’t seem the type. I hated to be so callous and hard hearted, for I genuinely believed they deserved sympathy. Still I had my own skin to be concerned with and as they crawled closer they closed the path behind us. We were surrounded by them at every angle. 

“Thirty-seven forty-eight ninety-two!” Doctor Lee shouted. 

I looked to her in confusion but she did not notice. I opened my mouth to ask, but quickly closed it as the rattling and scraping intensified. I watched as the subjects shuffled, standing aside and isolating one of their own. Male or female, I was unable to tell which. The hair was short, it was hard to see and everyone was wearing the same grimy coveralls. We advanced towards the islanded child. 

Stamped on the sleeves, collar and front of the coveralls were the numbers 374892. Doctor Lee’s cryptic code now made sense. My own question answered, we ventured closer. The child was shivering. 

“Be not afraid little Thirty-seven forty-eight ninety-two.” Doctor Lee crooned. “It’s time you serve your purpose.” 

The kid in the coveralls couldn’t have been more than ten. The coveralls were too big, covering the child’s hands and feet as it nervously took a step forward. The other subjects worked like herding dogs, closing Thirty-seven forty-eight ninety-two in on all sides and pushing them towards us. There was no escape to be had. Soon Doctor Lee’s long fingers gripped the child’s shoulder. Doctor Lee guided the both of us onwards, deeper into the room. 

“Sixty-seven twenty-two eighty-five, Sixty-seven twenty-two eighty-six, open the hatch!” Doctor Lee shouted. 

There was more scurrying. The sound of something cracking joined the sound of the chains clinking across cobblestone. There was a loud click, which made me jump and the squeak of hesitant hinges. I looked for its source but couldn’t find it. 

I judged we were midway into the room when she blew the lantern out. I bit my tongue to keep from cursing or screaming as the only light in this dark placed went cold. 

“Ma’am just-“ 

“Shh!” She hissed. “Wait.” 

Every nerve as tense as it could stand to be I stood beside the doctor. The darkness was total and complete. I would’ve felt like the last person on earth if not for the constant scurrying of the subjects. I couldn’t get a sense of where they were or what they were doing. Though my head longed for me to jolt it this way and that snapping towards each new sound I kept it firmly focused, straight ahead. 

And then I couldn’t help but turn. Blue light, distant but distinct dominated the far corner of the room. Whatever was generating it was moving towards us. By degrees I was able to see more of the room. The subjects had once again cleared a path, this one leading from the light straight to us. The glow came from a trapdoor in the floor, leading to some further depths of the city. Everything in Yhar’Ghul existed in a hierarchy of dizzying levels. 

I didn’t know what I had been expecting to come out of the hole. I was so wrapped up in the moment my brain didn’t have time to run. Whatever I would’ve come up with, I certainly never would have guessed what it was. 

A glowing slug, as long as my arm and as thick around as my chest slunk up from the depths. The forward feelers on its head wriggled around madly as it squelched it’s way forward leaving slimy residue on the chains it crawled over. 

Doctor Lee leaned down close to my ear, making me jump. “Behold.” She whispered, “A child of the gods.” 

“But that’s impossible.” I muttered. 

She gave Thirty-seven forty-eight ninety-two a shove forward. The child landed hard on her knees, right in the great slug’s path. 

Doctor Lee dropped to her knees, holding her hands together before her. All of the other subjects, their faces now illuminated in the blue glow, dropped into the same position. I copied them. I could feel the cold stone floor through my robes, chilling me straight through to bone. 

“How can this be?” I asked, watching with eyes wide. 

“It was found deep below the city, hundreds of years ago.” Doctor Lee whispered back, “She was just an egg then, passed down from one scholar to another. None had been able to hatch her; we didn’t know how long it would take to birth a god. Many thought it was a myth, but I always knew I would be the one. She’s only been alive a few months, but isn’t she beautiful Yilmarie?” 

It was not the word I would’ve chosen. I wasn’t even sure if I believed what I was seeing. All the same I replied, “Yes ma’am.” 

“Hush now.” Doctor Lee said, “No more talking.” 

She had been the one carrying on, but it wasn’t worth pointing out to her. The Godschild was only a few inches from thirty-seven forty-eight ninety-two. The antennae on its head reached out swinging about wildly. 

Then one of them found the child. 

The Godschild tensed itself, gelatinous body coiled up. Then all of a sudden it sprang at the child, enveloping the small body with its own. It devoured thirty-seven forty-eight ninety-two with a mouth I wasn’t aware it possessed. I turned away, eyes landing on Doctor Lee. She was in euphoria, drinking in every moment of it. 

When the Godschild was done, there was nothing but bones. A skeleton stripped clean in one gulp. Penance paid, it turned around and slunk back to the hole it had come from. The light disappeared along with it and we were once more bathed in darkness. My stomach was churning, deeply sickened. I regretted deeply every bite of food I had taken at the dining hall. I only had a few moments to collect myself, jumping once more as sixty-seven twenty-two eighty-five and sixty-seven twenty-two eighty-six snapped the door closed once more. 

There was a scratch as Doctor Lee struck a new match, and flames danced in the darkness. I wish she hadn’t. I didn’t want to see any of the subjects. I had never fathomed they were being used as livestock. 

“They all want to do it.” Doctor Lee assured me, “They all volunteered. Their churches brought them here to help her, so that she might grow into a true god. We don’t know what it is that will bring on the change, and I’ve been trying a lot of different things. Most suppose it’s some kind of special blood that will do it, and so I fill them up as best I can and hope that soon she will grow to her full potential.” 

Sixty-seven twenty-two eighty-six. 

Six hundred seventy-two thousand two hundred and eighty-six. 

The number hit me so hard, I would’ve fallen to my knees if I wasn’t already on them. I had no insight in to just how Doctor Lee’s number system worked but it seemed to me like the amount of subjects murdered had reached beyond half a million. The crunching that had mixed with the chain links before, came again. This time I knew it to be bones, the captives scurried across the bare-corpses of their fellow inmates. 

“As do I ma’am.” I muttered numbly. I dared not cross Doctor Lee now. I had chosen to lie, and I would need to keep up appearances. 

“Then you really shall be every bit the assistant the High Octave promised to me.” Doctor Lee said. 

“Yes ma’am.” I said. 

She rose, and started back towards the ladder, “Then you must return to your studies. Hurry now, don’t bother with copying the recipes. If Caryll had secrets perhaps she knew a thing or two about what makes the children of the gods mature.” 

I couldn’t manage more than a nod, keeping my head down as I climbed up the ladder after her. I complained of exhaustion and headache, vowing to return with all vigor to my studies the next morning. She made no complaints and allowed me to retire for the night. 

I laid on the bed, onto of the sheets fully dressed in the heavy choir robes. Every time I closed my eyes I was back down there, so I strained to keep them open. My eyelids got heavier and heavier, body exhausting before my terrified mind. I didn’t care I shuddered every time they shut and pushed them to stay open ever longer. 

For the first time since Kohso had vanished the loneliness of his absence hit me. There had been lots of times where we went without seeing each other, both of us busy with our own tasks; but if something like this happened he would’ve set aside everything and consoled me. I could trust him, pour out the horrors I had witnessed too him and know that I would be in no danger. Kohso would never betray me, we had grown up in the church together. 

No one amongst the Choir would be able to provide the same closeness. Peter no doubt already knew of Doctor Lee’s work and wanted to keep on her good side. Selling out a traitor was something he would surely be capable of. The High Octave had sanctioned the work, and she was sure to know about all aspects of it. Minimus was just waiting to shoot me down; I didn’t need to provide him with ammunition. The only one I even vaguely considered consulting was Izaius, but he was loyal to the Choir. I could think of no reason why he would listen to me and forsake them. 

Yharnam felt hopelessly far away. I never imagined I would feel homesick for its filthy streets and pious clergy, but I did. Staring up at a different ceiling in a different bed with my things all bundled up, yet to be unpacked I missed it more than anything. I couldn’t distract myself from it so I lay there and let it consume me. I was awash with crazy thoughts and nightmarish images. 

They only came to a stop when Peter knocked on my door the next morning. He told me breakfast would be waiting in the workroom. I had a task to complete, and I’d better get started. I approached Runesmith Caryll’s notebook with dread, this time hoping the ciphers would be too complex, the writing too strange and the symbols too tangled for me to ever understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	7. 7. Sudden Swift Emergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on the ship with Kohso for a hunt at sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please as always let me know what you think :)

“You sure you’re ready for this?” 

The question came from Sereja, the one with the trident asked me. She was the one they’d sent to retrieve me for the night’s hunt. I wished they would’ve chosen someone different, I couldn’t keep myself from staring. I’d never seen a girl with her hair shaved off like that, and my eyes kept drifting back too it. Her eyes narrowed, as she waited for a reply to my question, tapping her foot to accentuate the passage of time. 

I gulped, dropping my eyes to the floor. “Yes ma’am…I mean, aye ma’am.” I replied. 

She reached outside the door and retrieved a spear with a wooden shaft. “Do you know to use this?” 

It couldn’t be that much different from a sword, and it certainly weighed less. I took it from her, inspecting the iron tip. It was definitely sharp enough to do some damage. 

“Not exactly, but I think I’ve fought with close enough.” I told her. 

“Good.” She said, “When we’re out on deck we’re part of a team, understand? We have to work as one.” 

“I’m used to fighting as part of a team.” I told her, “Back in Yharnam we church hunters never went out on our own. It was always as part of a team and-“ 

She held up her hand and silenced me. “I don’t care what you and your group of clergymen did. The things in the sea are not polite. They do not obey any rules of combat or code of chivalry. Do not seek glory, do not run off on your own.” 

“Aye, ma’am.” I said. 

She left the door of my room and headed up to the main deck. I followed after her, carrying the spear along with me. I had to adjust its position several times, the tip kept scraping the ceiling. Once we got on deck, it was the last thing I needed to concern myself with. There was nothing for the spear to catch on, provided I didn’t stray too close to the rigging. 

The ocean at night was a beast of its own. It stretched out solid black in every direction, merging with the sky. The ship was nearly as dark, save for a few scattered lanterns which bordered the doorways. Sereja and I joined Roshin, Delphine and Fwahe who were standing towards the center of the ship. They were similarly armed, save the captain who preferred sword to spear. 

“Good evening.” Roshin smiled at me. 

“Good evening Captain.” I replied. 

Fwahe grinned at me. The flames reflected in her golden eye looked malicious; as though they’d been kindled in the farthest depths of the underworld. How we were going to fight monsters when there was one amongst us I couldn’t fathom. The Captain motioned me closer and I awkwardly shuffled into place sandwiched between Delphine and the Vileblood. I shifted my shoulder to the one nearest to Fwahe, just in case. 

“Now I know you’ve never fought on the open sea before.” Roshin said to me, “but I expect you to pull your weight like anyone else. You look as strong as any hunter ought to be, I don’t expect it will trouble you. Do not shake in your boots, these beasts will be different than anything you’ve fought before, but they are still beasts.” 

“Aye. I’m not one to shy from a beast.” I replied shooting a glare at Fwahe. 

Roshin grinned, about to continue with her briefing. She was interrupted by the boat, which suddenly lurched to one side. Delphine and Sereja leapt into action, darting to the railing and looking over the edge. They had their spears poised to strike, every muscle of their bodies tensed and ready for action. Expert eyes searched the shadowy waves, seeking the unseen. 

I tightened my grip on the spear, and hurried over to join them. I had been the slowest to react, shocked by the threat of the strange creature. I leaned so far over the side that Delphine grabbed the hood of my robes as a precautionary measure. Even with squinted eyes looking out into the water as far as I dared I couldn’t see anything. The dim glow of light from the ship did little to illuminate the dark depths. 

“What do you reckon it was, Captain?” Delphine asked. 

Roshin was deep in though, pacing along the railing. Her boots clicked against the wooden deck, the only sharp sound on the otherwise sedated sea. There was a whole new world of nerves that set in with a hunt like this. In Yharnam there was no way for a beast to really be below you, the way whatever had rammed our boat could. There were things that prowled the sewers, but even then you could count on firm footing in the sewer drains. If whatever was in the water could tip our boat, we would have no way of fighting it. Either the beast would get us or the waves wood, me anyway. 

I wasn’t about to admit it; but I didn’t know how to swim. If I went over the edge I was done for. 

“It must be the same thing that tried to capsize us last night.” Roshin concluded, “Another one of those giant squids- what did the stories call them again?” 

“Krakens.” Sereja replied. 

Roshin nodded, “It’s likely to be one of them. We fought it off last time, I see no reason why now should be any different. Delphine, Kohso and myself will take the port side, Fwahe and Sereja take starboard.” 

A chorus of “aye Captain’s” echoed across the deck as everyone took their places. I was glad the captain hadn’t put me on the same side of the ship as the Vileblood. Delphine placed me in the middle, between her and Roshin. I didn’t have any walls or stairs, nothing to grip besides the railing in front of me. It didn’t seem like enough. 

“Don’t go losing your nerve now.” Delphine cautioned. “Steady on.” 

I nodded. I had asked for this. I was determined not to be a liability. I had gone up against all manner of beasts in Yharnam, those on the sea couldn’t be too different. The moments that followed were tense, all of us waiting for something to happen, for the creature to strike. 

Nothing happened. Time slipped into meaningless infinity as we drifted across the dark ocean. I looked over my shoulder at the other side of the deck, but there was no action over there either. If it hadn’t been for the others standing at the ready, I might have thought that I’d imagined the boat rocking earlier. 

“Don’t let him fool you.” Roshin warned, “He’s out there biding his time.” 

“Aye Captain.” I replied. 

We kept waiting. The ocean was cold at night, with nothing to block the winds. It tore right through us, rampaging through the sails and across the deck. I didn’t know how Fwahe could stand it in with her severe lack of clothing. I had to remind myself that it was likely due to her species. Cainhurst was a cold place, full of snow and ice. Their citizens’ skin must’ve been hardened to the cold long before they imbibed blood and hardened it to blades. Cassius withstood the Logarius wheel much longer then I’d expected, though his skin had appeared the same as any other humans. It was another blasphemous component of their anatomy. They had the nerve to look like us. 

As the indignation that came with thoughts of these creatures simmered inside of me, the boat lurched again. The impact came from the opposite side. Sereja and Fwahe’s eyes flicked back and forth as they searched the water for a place to land their spears. 

Whatever this kraken was, it must’ve gone under the boat. The next thing I heard was a shout from Delphine as an enormous tentacle gripped her by the ankle and yanked her off her feet. It was pulling her back to the sea. 

I leapt into action, driving the sharpened point of my spear into the sea beast’s appendage. I withdrew it and stabbed again, keeping up a small flurry of jabs in the hopes that its grip might loosen. 

The suckers on the underside of the tentacle had gripped the deck, anchoring the beast to us. Delphine recovered from the momentary shock of the creature’s ambush and sawed at the tentacle, using the point of her spear like a knife. Greenish-brown blood oozed from the creature’s wounds; thick and strange like nothing I’d seen before. It was no wonder the Prestwick company had to import blood onto its vessels. You’d have to be truly desperate to try and perform blood ministration with some of that sludge. 

Delphine managed to cut off the part of the creature that held her. The second the kraken’s grip was gone she slid the slimy restraint off her and got to her feet again. She helped me jab at the thing, wedging her spear under the tentacle’s suckers and popping them loose with a twist of her wrist. The two of us worked to loosen its grip, as more tentacles began to find their purchase on the planks. 

One of them wrapped itself around the railing, bearing its’ tremendous weight down on the thin bannisters. They were buckling, nearly ready to crack. 

Roshin would not let her vessel be damaged. She swung her sword over her head, bringing it down in a savage chop. She sliced the offending tentacle clean in half, like a fisherman removing the head from his catch. More of the strange blood came spilling out onto the deck. The waves rattled as the creature below us let out a shriek. 

I hadn’t given the size of the kraken credit. It was hard to imagine what it looked like, as the dark night would only allow me to see it in pieces, but some of its tentacles towered higher than the mast. It was winding itself around the thick timber, trying to crack it. 

“Delphine take over for Sereja.” Roshin said as she hacked away at the creature, cutting off the tops of the smaller tentacles before they got their grip on the deck. “Sereja, get aloft! Protect the mast!” 

“Aye captain!” they shouted in unison. Delphine dashed from one end of the deck to the other, sliding the last few paces to come up under one of the kraken’s thrashing arms and stab its underside. 

Corrupted blood rained down on her as she drove her spear-point deep. Sereja slung her trident across her back and took to the mast. She didn’t bother with rigging, finding foot holds on the weathered wood, the poles that held the sail or even parts of the creature when she had to. Once she had made her way into the crows’ nest she stabbed at the thing. When it didn’t release she supplied herself with superior weapons, firing a pistol at the kraken. The speeding bullets loosened its hold on the wood, but the battle for the mast continued. 

That left me to defend a fourth of the deck. I kept up with it as best I could, stabbing, slicing and sometimes flat-out punching the thing when I couldn’t twirl my spear around fast enough to dissuade it. I tried to keep the beast from gaining any ground, and even without the help of Delphine I was holding my side fairly well. 

“Gulls in bound!” Sereja shouted from the crow’s-nest. 

“What?” I asked, but I was drowned out by the shrieking of the kraken as Roshin chopped off another tentacle. 

I wanted to ask again but that attempt was drowned out by a new sound. Much like the crow-beasts that would cloud the streets of Yharnam; the ocean had its own brand of aerial monsters. The oversized seagulls squawked and cawed as they dove at us, drowning out all other sounds. A horde of them dove at Delphine and Fwahe, covering their side of the deck in a mass of flapping feathers. 

Roshin dashed to my side, shoving me towards the others. I looked back at her and she nodded, prepared to handle our side by herself. I shouted affirmation at her as loud as I could, though still inaudible amongst the birds. I crashed into the cloud of birds, just in time to see two of the kraken’s tentacles find their purchase on the Vileblood. She already had her hands full, one of the great gulls was trying to claw out her eyes and another had found a roost on her head, attempting to sink its toothed beak into her ear and make off with it. 

I found myself acting on instinct, and coming to the beasts’ defense because she was a member of my hunting party. I tried to pry the kraken’s arms off her, but the beast had other plans. It ripped its tentacles off the deck, taking Fwahe and the spear I’d driven into it along for the ride. There was an enormous splash as it pulled the Vileblood into the water, leaving me on deck and unarmed amidst an angry gathering of gulls. They’d just had their meal stolen, but they were willing to settle for me as a second course. 

“Man overboard!” Sereja shouted from the crows’ nest. 

She had done her job well, keeping the mast free of the beast, but it required constant maintenance. When she had a spare second she fired her pistol into the gulls, sending them scattering. It was one of these shots that stopped them from coming at me. I grabbed a lantern from its hook and swung it back and forth in front of the birds. They seemed wary of the fire, letting me be long enough to find arms again. 

I remembered where the mop was kept, after having used it so recently. I let the fibers catch flame, and waved my new torch at the beasts. Several gulls set themselves on fire as they scattered, fluttering away from the deck madly to escape the torch. The stench of burning feathers filled the air. When it was clear they had all gone, I leaned over the side to extinguish the flaming mop before the entire pole was consumed. 

The second the makeshift weapon hit the waves, the kraken got its grip. I didn’t have time to think to let go before I was flung over the edge. I hit the water hard, consumed by the unforgiving waves. The cold set in seconds later, turning my bones to ice almost instantly. It was so cold I couldn’t move. My robes were waterlogged, tugging me down further beneath the sea. 

I dimly heard another cry of “man overboard!” before a tug from the kraken’s tentacle dragged me down below. Everything stopped making sense. I didn’t know where was down and where was up. Salt stung my eyes and nose. I caught a glimpse of the mouth of the kraken as I was tugged closer to it, endless rows of teeth. 

I gasped, which was yet another mistake. Cold water poured into my mouth. What little breath I’d had escaped in a flurry of bubbles. I could feel my lungs filling with water. They were burning for air that was nowhere to be found. I didn’t know if I’d reach the beast or run out of oxygen first. Either way I’d be dead. 

It was muted by the water clogging my ears, but I heard a loud boom. Then there was a flash of light. A cannonball came ripping through the waves. It was a direct shot into the beast’s mouth, shattering several of the enormous teeth. It shrieked, the sharp sound agonizing at such close range. There was another boom, another flash, another cannonball. 

The kraken let go of me as it turned its attention back to the Searider Falcon. I tried to move in whatever direction I thought upwards, but my legs were tangled in my sea-soaked robes. I couldn’t really kick, and my arms, bogged down by the weight of my sleeves were a hindrance as well. My lungs were screaming, desperate for air. I struggled in vain, as my vision started to cloud and my chilled limbs began to stiffen. 

To my great surprise I was shot to the surface, caught from under by several of the Kraken’s tentacles. I gulped down air as my head came above water; coughing and sputtering for all I was worth. I was still caught up in the creature, trying to urge my frozen limbs to action. I moved too slow to be of any help to myself. I tried to cling to the beast, digging my nails into its slick skin the best I could manage. It was a weak hold and I was flung away, once more crashing into the cold ocean. 

“There!” 

The sharp shout rang out across the waves. Something was tossed over me. Like a spooked horse I began to panic, thrashing about wildly. I tangled myself in the netting, before realizing the woven ropes were coming to my aid. Slowly but surely I was being hauled closer to the boat, rising away from the freezing water by degrees. 

Roshin was climbing down the netting, coming closer towards me. 

“Where’s the other one?” She asked. 

Once again my reply was cut off, the boom of yet another cannon ball as it collided with the kraken. 

“Where’s Fwahe?” She asked. 

I tried to keep my teeth from chattering, looking around and trying to sight the Vileblood in the swirling sea. I coughed, letting out more water before I was able to speak. “Don’t know.” I sputtered. “Can’t see her.” 

Roshin nodded, turning her attention away from me and back to the creature. She cut down anything that tried to attack us as we were hauled aboard. Delphine had gotten the help of Ratliff, the two of them pulling us on deck. The second we had passed the railing they rushed back to their positions. The fight was ongoing. 

I tried to untangle myself from the net and get to my feet, but my limbs shook with every attempt. Barely managing to rise on wobbly legs, I used the railing to steady myself. I blinked my eyes, rubbing at them to stop the burning sea water. I tried to snort what was left in my nose out, but that only made it sting worse. Breathing came with a twinge of pain. When I’d regained my sense enough to make use of them, Roshin handed me another spear. 

“Steady on.” She said. 

I coughed out an “Aye Captain.” And made a few half-hearted stabs at the tentacles that came within striking range. She was in her own fight, but she would look back at me, probably to make sure I hadn’t fallen into the sea again. 

The more I moved the warmer I got but it wasn’t enough to stave off the chill completely. Every gust of wind tore through the dripping fabric of my church robes, sending fresh shivers through my body. 

Out in the waves I caught a flash of silver. I turned all of my attention towards it, squinting to see more clearly. I was fairly certain it was the Vileblood’s hair and that I’d located Fwahe amidst the maelstrom. Without clear vision or a spyglass handy, I couldn’t be sure it was her, but there was no time to ask a second opinion. She could be gone by then, once again lost to the ocean. Would that really be so bad? Another Vileblood gone from this world. No one would know I’d seen her, I could let her slip away and be rid of another menace. 

Of course that was still no assurance that the creature would actually die. I doubted Vilebloods took breath the same way a human did, perhaps she could survive beneath the sea. No, if I was going to be the one to dispose of her, I would do it the proper way. Taking the easiest path never ended well. She needed to be slain by Executioners to ensure she wouldn’t return from the dead. 

I wasn’t saving her, I assured myself, I was recapturing her. I was merely making sure my prisoner didn’t escape. I repeated this to myself, as though hearing it over and over would somehow make it true. I tied the rope from the net they’d pulled me up in, and tied it to a lantern. I took aim, and used most of my remaining strength to hurl it into the sea. A curling arc of light showed the path of the rope, as the candle went sailing through the air. 

Cannons boomed and flashed. The kraken screamed as more and more of its tentacles were severed. The deck was slick with the creature’s blood. I strained to see if I’d managed to get the line anywhere close to her. The little light had managed to stay lit, I saw it touch down on the waves. It went out instantly thereafter as the lantern began to sink. 

The light had been enough though, and it had clearly caught the Vileblood’s attention. I felt a sharp tug on the rope. My half-frozen feet slid everywhere as I struggled to gain traction on the slick deck. Shoulders still sore from trying to swim strained and protested as I urged them to action once more. 

The kraken’s attacks had lessened, as the barrage of cannon fire drove it off. Not many monsters wanted to stand up to a barrage of teeth-shattering iron balls just for a meal. It must’ve decided we weren’t worth the trouble and began to draw itself back into the ocean. When Sereja had decided the mast no longer needed defending she came to my aid, helping me to haul in the rope. The others slowly joined in, and before long the Vileblood was once more on board the ship. 

She didn’t cough blood or shiver or struggle to stand. She didn’t thank us either. 

"Are you alright?” Roshin asked. 

Fwahe nodded, “Ship just got away from me for a second. Lost my bearings nothing more.” 

“Well lucky Kohso was here to haul you in.” Delphine said giving me a pat on the back. 

She still didn’t say thank you. She ignored Delphine and continued on with the captain, “Did we kill it this time?” 

Roshin shook her head, “I’m afraid not. A beast like that can recover from just about anything, but we did more damage to it than ever before. Usually the gulls are more troublesome. We can’t use the cannons with them clouding our vision.” 

Fwahe nodded. 

“Let’s get him below decks before he freezes to death.” Sereja said. 

Roshin nodded, “Delphine and you can go. Fwahe and I will stand watch and make sure it doesn’t mount a counterattack. Send up the first person you see to aid us. It’s best not to be out numbered.” 

“Aye Captain.” Sereja said. 

I had to lean on the both of them several times to steady myself as we disappeared into the ship. They talked amongst each other, discussing the battle but I didn’t have the energy to try and participate. It took everything in me just to reach the cabin. 

“You did well.” Delphine told me, “Rest up.” 

She closed the door and I collapsed onto my bunk. Hunting at sea was no easy task. 

It was still cold when I woke up the next morning. My clothes had adhered to everything around them, sealed to the bed and sheets and my skin with dried sea water. Parts of me were still damp. My mouth was the only thing that was truly dry. I had to give myself an inspiration speech before I got out of bed. 

I had to ask myself what Alfred would’ve done in this situation, and if this was the sort of life an Executioner could expect to endure. I didn’t know that I could continue to fight beasts that big, let alone kill one. I looked at myself in the mirror, and instantly wished I hadn’t. There were cuts and scrapes everywhere. My robes were torn, lace collar stained and askew. My left earring had lost most of itself, the bottom third of the cross snapped in half. Everywhere something was wrong, bruised arms, battered legs. 

I forced movement into sore muscles, struggling to the deck. I needed to know what time it was. Odeon Chapel had light streaming through its windows in the morning, but nothing came in through the thick timber and deep sea. I worked my way up to it, to finding my answer. I had to cling to the railing for fear of falling. There was only a dozen or so steps, but I had to catch my breath twice. I wanted to crawl up them, on all fours like a child; it would’ve been easier that way but the indignity of my soiled clothes was enough. 

Sea spray stung my nose, and peppered my face. The cool morning breeze blew through my hair, which had coagulated into several clumps. The clumps depressed and expanded, acting more like wire then hair, bouncy where it should’ve been otherwise. I ran my fingers through it, brushing over the shaved back and sides to scratch at the longer parts on top. I pulled out a lot of foreign objects, dirt and salt and things I couldn’t place. My hands came out coated in bits, making me think of the things left floating in a pickle jar after all the pickles had been eaten. I always thought the water inside looked grimy, and equated it to my scalp. 

I stopped running my fingers through the stiffened strands and stumbled to the balcony. Whoever was at the helm would surely see me now, but so long as I stayed on my feet, I didn’t care. The sea at night had been black, but this morning everything was white. The ocean was still a void but it was a void of a different kind. Night’s abyss had been sinister, but this felt more like the end of things altogether. It felt like an inevitable impartial result, something bound to happen. 

The water was so covered with fog it seemed to merge with the clouds. We might’ve been sailing on the skies instead of the seas if not for the sounds of waves lapping at the sides of the Searider Falcon. The sun was trying its best to shine through the cloud cover, turned light blue instead of burning white or yellow because of the things obscuring it. 

The gods I had felt so connected to seemed far away here. Kos dwelled somewhere down in those swirling depths, that’s what the Anointed Texts said. I was in their territory, but felt extremely unwelcome. It had been awhile since I’d heard Vicar Lanthem’s sermons. It felt like it had been awhile since I’d prayed too, but I knew that wasn’t true. I glanced over my shoulder, checking for the Vileblood who would be sure to put a stop to anything I might try and say. Last night must have done its damage to her too, she wasn’t anywhere on deck. Ratliff was up at the helm, and Ottilie was recoiling some of the ropes we’d used and tripped over last night. Neither of them seemed to notice me. 

I looked down towards the sea, watching the bubbles that formed as waves lapped at the beams of the ship. They could’ve been the god’s eyes, impossibly numerous and always watching. I could be looking right at Kos and not even know it. I knelt to get closer to them, hoping decreasing the distance would make things feel more like they used to in the chapel. The scent of Yilmarie’s burning incense was replaced with salt, dried blood and sweat. The ship rocked, making me long for steady ground beneath my feet once more. I laid my palms flat on the deck, closed my eyes and bent to my task. 

I could’ve chosen one of Vicar Lanthem’s favorite prayers, or one of the ones that I’d learned as a child. There was a lot of material to pull from, and I knew nearly all of them by heart. Everyone had their theories on which prayers worked best, or were the ones you should frequent. I wasn’t so sure the gods cared which of the devotions you chose. So I chose my favorite. 

“Honored be those, dead in graves 

Blessed by gods beneath the waves 

Delay our death so we might strive 

To keep our fellow men alive 

To you we sacrifice our will 

In hopes you’ll bless beasts we kill 

When standing small amongst the storm 

Give us power, from the blood we’ve borne 

Your humble servants, this we pray 

Let us fight another day 

And when we at last can stand no longer 

Give us strength and make us stronger 

This hunt, unending, will cease one day 

So may the good blood guide our way” 

The words came to me naturally, and I felt warmer after having said them. The distance between what I spoke to and where I was didn’t seem to have lessened any, but I would be content with the warmth. It was a start. 

I stayed on my knees longer after the prayer had ended. It seemed easier than trying to stand. The thousand eyes of Kos were watching; to stumble would be shameful. I took a few measured breaths, clenched and unclenched my fists. Inside my boots, I curled and uncurled my toes, coaxing life back to them. They felt more like frigid bricks strapped to my legs then working blood and bone. When I was standing on them again they seemed to protest, unwilling to do the task they were created for. 

Ottilie and Ratliff had noticed me now that I stood, and they waved at me from the ship’s wheel. I headed closer, returning their greeting with a wave of my own. 

“Good battle last night?” Ratliff asked, looking me over as I joined her by the wheel. 

Ottilie took my arm, pulling me down to sit next to her. She passed me a knotted length of rope. I began to untangle it, working as I talked. “Yeah…never saw anything like that before.” 

Ratliff let out a low whistle, “Yeah she’s a beauty. We’ve never come up against one her size either. Biggest we’ve ever seen. I think it’s been following us, though I can’t imagine why.” 

Ottilie set down the rope she was coiling to talk to Ratliff. I tried to discern the content of their conversation, but Ratliff’s usually expressive face stayed stiff. Whatever they were discussing was either very boring or very secretive. I just focused on my ropes until Ratliff spoke again, giving them the privacy they might have wanted. I really did need to find some time to learn the basics of the silent language. At some point during their discourse my stomach growled. Ratliff dropped her hands abruptly. 

She turned around and half-dove into a barrel; her head and shoulder disappearing into it. “Just a second!” she called to me as she rooted around. Her legs kicked comically as she worked to generate enough force to reverse out of the barrel. The wooden keg wobbled and then fell on its side. Ratliff cursed, and oranges went tumbling out across the deck. Ottilie smiled, chasing after some of the ones that went loose. I rose to help her, but was knocked back down. Grinning from ear to ear Ottilie had tossed one of the loose oranges right at my side, and held another poised to strike. The mischievous look on her face stayed any anger that might have come from being assaulted with fruit before I’d had the chance to eat any. 

I grabbed the orange nearest me and returned fire. I missed by a mile, but Ottilie dodged out of the way all the same. She landed a shot on the unsuspecting Ratliff while she was crawling out of the orange barrel. 

“What the hell?” Ratliff mumbled, turning to face us. 

Ottilie let all her oranges drop to the deck and pointed a finger at me. 

“I didn’t do it I swear.” I said. 

“Oh yeah?” Ratliff asked picking up a nearby orange and tossing it up and down, “Ottilie says otherwise.” 

“Yes because she threw it.” I replied. 

Ottilie tried her best to look innocent, but Ratliff saw right through it. She grabbed another orange and threw one at each of us. An all-out war broke out after that, oranges whizzing back and forth. I took one to the knee, but managed to catch Ratliff’s hand a few times. Ottilie went right for the face, her shipmate always managing to dodge and avoid direct contact. Still Ottilie usually managed to catch her in the ear or the tip of the nose, grazing whatever didn’t make way. All three of us were laughing as we stumbled around the wheel, scooping up oranges whenever ammunition ran low. I kept up, tossing orange after orange, then stopped with a wince at the sound of a splash. A stray projectile had gone over the side, bobbing below us on the waves. 

Ratliff and Ottilie glanced down at it and grinned before pelting me with more oranges. I was laughing so hard it hurt. 

And then it really hurt. 

And then it was coughing. 

My chest burned and my sides hurt but I couldn’t stop the coughs from happening. They were horrible scratchy creatures clawing their way out of my throat. 

“Shit, are you ok?” Ratliff asked. 

I couldn’t answer her, the coughing wouldn’t stop. 

“Ottilie go get him some water, then go find Roshin. Quick as you can!” Ratliff said. 

Ottilie was back with the water in a few seconds, pressing a canteen to my lips. I took a small sip, but more coughing came and I ended up spitting it out. Some of it landed on the little girls face but she didn’t seem upset. Ratliff took over while she dashed off for the captain. While Ottilie was gone I managed to get the fits under control, as I sipped the water. 

Ottilie returned with Roshin who took one look at me and sighed, “Of course he’s coughing…look at him, both of you. He slept in clothes that were soaking wet and has been out on deck running around….honestly Ratter. Why would you condone such recklessness?” 

“It didn’t really occur to me Captain.” She replied. 

“Sorry.” I said, “I-“ 

“None of that from you.” Roshin said, “You couldn’t have known better. Take him below decks, find something clean and dry. Make him a hot meal. They’ll be no work for today Kohso, none until you’re feeling better.” 

I wanted to protest but another bout of coughing further punctuated her point. Ottilie took me down to the kitchen and stoked a fire to life. She made it clear she wanted me to stay put then darted off into the many branching hallways of the ship. The stove turned the room cozy as it grew hotter and hotter. I sat as close to it as I could. 

I didn’t have to wait long for Ottilie to returned. She was hauling a ball of clothes along with her, so large it blocked her head from view. She tossed the bundle onto the counter and pushed it towards me. 

I dipped my head to her, wishing I knew how to say thank you. 

She got the message and grinned. I pulled the clothes closer to me, looking through the assortment. She left me too it, closing the door to the kitchen to give me some privacy. There wasn’t a time I could remember where I hadn’t worn church robes. Ottilie had done her best to find things that would fit me. I now wore a shirt that was two sizes too large, with a sweater a size too small stretched over it. The legs of my pants covered my socks, which must’ve been made for someone with extremely wide feet. It felt like I was walking around in empty potato sacks. Still, all was dry and warm. 

“You look nice in colors.” Harker said. 

I turned up in alarm. I hadn’t heard the door open. “Thank you.” I stammered. 

Ottilie was a few steps behind her looking frustrated that she’d failed in her role as a guard. I gave her a sympathetic grin. It was unlikely the intrusion was her fault. Harker began to assemble supplies. Rather than ask me to move when I was in her way, she reached around me or nudged my stool. I considered moving to a different spot but the second I started to stand she stopped me. 

“Don’t you move on account of me. You stay by that fire and get warmed up. I’ll have something for you to eat coming right up.” 

Ottilie stamped her foot indignant that yet another of her Captain-assigned tasks was being taken away. She snatched a wooden spoon out of Harker’s hands and chased her out of the kitchen with it. She then turned and grinned at me. 

“Do you know how to cook?” I asked. 

Ottilie shrugged, then lifted her free hand tilting it back and forth. 

“You sort of know how to cook?” 

She nodded and began to rummage through the cupboards. She went to them full-force just like Ratliff and the barrel, disappearing halfway inside. I wasn’t sure what to expect as she rummaged through the Searider Falcon’s supplies. Ottilie waddled out of the cupboard like a duck, bending her knees to help take the weight of the massive pile of ingredients she struggled to contain. 

“Do you need some help?” I asked. 

Ottilie heaved her burden onto the counter, shoving aside my neatly folded church robes. They fell to the ground with a damp splat. 

“Hey!” I said, “That’s going to wrinkle.” 

She didn’t justify that with a response. Ottilie focused on sorting out her ingredients, pushing them all over the counter top. She wrestled one of the packages out from the pile and brought it over to me. Her eyes met mine, ensuring I was paying attention as she unwrapped it. Twine was pulled away from brown paper, revealing a smaller paper-wrapped package inside. This one was much more opulent, dark purple with golden designs etched into it. Ottilie snatched the bar and tore through its fancy wrappings to reveal the sweet chocolate concealed inside. 

She broke off a large chunk and gulped it down, then broke off a piece for me. 

“Thank you.” I said. 

Ottilie broke off another bit and let it stick out of her mouth like a pipe as she went back to the counter. The chocolate got progressively smaller as she worked. She filled a pot twice her size with water and set it on stove top to boil. She motioned me over, and handed me a knife. I was put to work chopping vegetables. Most of them were slightly shriveled, or smaller than the ones I was used to in Yharnam. Cubed potatoes, quartered ears of corn and slices of onion were tossed into the boiling pot. 

While I had been attending to the vegetables Ottilie had been dealing with shellfish. She hacked away at the crabs with a meat cleaver, sending bits of crab all over the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if they had been alive before she’d gotten to them- but they were certainly dead now. She tossed legs, claws and whatever other parts of the creature she deemed serviceable into the pot. Hot water splashed over the edge and sputtered on the stove, hissing and bubbling before it dissipated. 

When her task was done she flung handfuls of salt and pepper into the pot. Then she returned to the counter and turned her attention to the pile of spices. While she unscrewed the lids and sniffed the contents inside, I was handed a spoon. I sat near the stove stirring the bubbling cauldron. Every so often Ottilie would throw in fistfuls of spice; dusting her hands off over the pot and turning back for more. She used anything that struck her fancy. I saw her break off chunks of chocolate and plop them one by one into the pot. 

“You like chocolate huh?” I asked. 

She nodded, then flung her arms wide. 

“You like chocolate a lot?” I chuckled. 

She grinned nodding again, with more energy. 

Harker came in after Ottilie had finished seasoning the pot. “Hey there.” 

Ottilie snatched the spoon from me prepared to chase Harker out again. 

Harker quickly explained herself to her defensive crewmate. She spoke with her hands and voice at the same time so the both of us could understand. “I’m just here to get the laundry. We don’t need his robes stinking up the place and I’m sure he’d rather his own clothes then the ones you scrounged up.” 

Ottilie fixed her with a suspicious raising of the eyebrow but let her pass. She collected my robes, dipped her head and was out the door before I could say thank you. I think she feared another attack from the current cook. 

I just stayed there in silence for a while, stirring. There was nothing else to do. I didn’t want to subject Ottilie to a conversation based solely in yes or no questions, so I just sat there. I sat there and waited for things to cook. She would occasionally lift the lid to inspect that which the pot contained. By the time she deemed it ready I no longer felt the cold. The change of clothes and proximity to heat had worked their magic, as surely as Yilmarie’s medications would have. 

She dipped a ladle into the pot, pulling up from the depths steaming shellfish and boiled vegetables. There were many scents in the peculiar mix of spices that my nose was unfamiliar with. Some of them stung my nose, and I was doubtful they’d make for the most pleasant of dining experiences, but I accepted the bowl she handed to me. 

The vegetables and meats hadn’t broken down into soup they were still floating about in large chunks. The broth they were steeped in was weak and watery. I brought it to my lips, blowing on it so it wouldn’t burn me, then took my first sip. I was overwhelmed by the heat; that which was brought on by the spices. The liquid that ran down my throat was warm enough but the pungent peppery broth that coated my mouth was enough to make me cough and sputter. I flung my bowl down on the counter and grabbed for the nearest jug of water. In my haste I knocked one of the jars of spice onto the floor. The glass shattered as I tried to rinse the burning sensation from my mouth. 

Ottilie looked on as I struggled. She had her own bowl of her fiery concoction and was drinking it down without a care. 

“What’s going on in here?” Delphine asked. 

Ottilie shook her head and tried to convince the helmsmen that I was ok. She spoke with one hand, the other holding her bowl. 

Delphine didn’t pay attention. She took the entire situation in just by sniffing the food. “Odeon almighty…you can’t feed him that.” She sighed speaking to both of us at the same time, “He’s not built for food like this.” 

Delphine dipped her hands into the pot that contained the rest of the food. She was undaunted by the steaming cauldron. She fished around in it before pulling out several potatoes and an ear of corn. She took the vegetables over to the sink, scrubbing them hard with a cloth. Once she was satisfied she had removed all the spice she could she mixed both in a bowl with some water. Delphine cut kernels off the cob of corn with a few deft swipes of the blade she kept on her belt. She smashed everything together with a wooden spoon then handed me the bowl of lukewarm paste. 

“This should suit your constitution better.” 

“Thank you.” I said. 

Ottilie rolled her eyes and took another long sip from her bowl, slurping loudly. Delphine sighed and spoke with Ottilie. She left in a huff, a stack of bowls in one hand and the pot of soup in the other. 

“She wouldn’t know what spices are common in your area.” Delphine explained, “So you must forgive her. To us that seasoning is mere salt and pepper.” 

“She’s certainly stronger then she looks. I don’t know anyone back home who could drink that without flinching.” I replied. 

The corn and potato mush still had vague hints of the spices it was steeped in, but to a much milder degree. I didn’t care for the taste and had to steel myself before each bite. For the most part I gulped it down, it was soft enough that I didn’t have to chew at it. If I was quick enough it was down my throat before I could taste it. 

Eating in this manner had its drawbacks. I’d regularly swallow too fast and get into fits of coughing and choking. 

“Take it easy.” Delphine cautioned. “Don’t make yourself any sicker.” 

“Sorry.” I said setting my spoon down in the bowl. 

“No need for apologies.” Delphine assured, “Once you’re finished go and rest. Sleep as long as you can, we’ll be making port soon. If you’re still under the weather, we can pick up some medicines.” 

“I’ll be fine.” I said, taking another bite of the mush. 

The helmsmen nodded. “I trust you know the way to your cabin?” 

“Aye.” I replied. 

“Then I’ll be off.” 

Delphine left and the kitchen was mine alone. I lingered by the stove for a long time, enjoying the residual heat. I didn’t leave until it had gone cold. When I could tarry no longer I rose, resenting the effort it took to traverse the halls. My room seemed too far to be reasonable. I coughed several times along the way. Perhaps the pirates concern had some merit after all. 

They came in bursts throughout the remainder of the day. The coughs kept me from sleeping and I spent the interim tossing and turning. There was a commotion on deck as we came into port, everyone donning disguises and raising alternate sails. A ship bearing the falcon standard and captained by a woman would be sure to raise some eyebrows. The crew of the Searider didn’t want the Prestwick Company to have any knowledge of their impending doom. 

When the ship had stopped surging forward and was now just bobbing up and down in the waves, I heard a knock at my door. 

“Come in.” I said. 

Ratliff crossed the threshold. She was dressed in a navy coat, two sizes two big from her. Rattliff’s hair was tucked into a sailor’s cap and she had a false moustache hanging crookedly from her upper lip. 

“How you doing Champ?” she asked. 

“Just fine.” I said. 

The statement was punctuated by coughs which proved that I wasn’t. She chuckled. “Sure you are. We’ve just landed, and pretty much everyone wants to go ashore. We thought you might like to as well.” 

“Aye.” I said, pushing myself into a seated position. “Just give me a second.” 

Ratliff nodded. “Captain is only letting us get off in pairs so we’d need to hold up for a second anyway. No one can stop Ottilie from leaving first, and I’m pretty sure that girl we picked up with you left as well.” 

“Fwahe’s gone?” I asked. 

Ratliff nodded. 

I jumped up, slamming my forehead into the bunk above me. Ratliff gritted her teeth as I lifted a hand to check for blood. There wasn’t any, but I set about rubbing the affected area in an attempt to dissipate the pain. 

“That Vileblood could’ve eaten half the town. We’ve got to go after her.” I said. 

“She wouldn’t do that.” Ratliff said. “She swore to-“ 

“Vilebloods have no honor. You really think she’s going to keep her promise? She could hide the body and be back before we knew anything. No, we have a duty as hunters to protect denizens from beasts. Beasts including Vilebloods.” 

“Strange, coming from the person who saved her life last night.” Ratliff countered. 

“That was different.” I said, pulling the laces of my boots tight before tying them off. “Come on, we’ve no time to lose.” 

Ratliff, despite her indifference to my cause followed behind me. We came out onto the deck, where most of Roshin’s pirates had gathered. They were dressed in assortment of oversized things and various hats. Ratliff was the only one who had added facial hair to her disguise, yet remained the least convincing. 

“Which way did she go?” I asked the crew. 

Their expressions revealed nothing. They had no clue what I was talking about. I couldn’t stand around and wait, she could murder dozens while I delayed. I shuffled past the others and down the gangplank onto the dock. The air blew in from the sea, cold and full of sea spray. The entire town had a haze of mist and fog over it. Despite their close proximity I could only make out the distant shape of a few buildings, no concrete details. 

It didn’t matter that the buildings were little more than ghosts. I pulled the sleeves of my too-small sweater down as far as they would go, braced myself against the chill and pressed onward. I scanned the ground for tracks, the Vileblood never wore shoes so she should be easy enough to trail. No sensible person would go out in this weather without something on their feet. 

“Wait up!” 

I turned back and saw Ratliff loping along behind. I could probably move faster without her, but taking on a Vileblood by myself could be quite the task. Another round of coughing got to me while I contemplated the situation. 

We continued forward, side by side. Things came into focus by degrees. We surprised the people we passed who were in turn surprised to see us. They looked so threatening at first, just the outline of something approaching in the fog. Once they stepped in to focus they were no different from the hundreds of different people who I’d known before in Yharnam. There was a mother and her children, a sailor stumbling out of a tavern, a grave digger sore from a day’s work rubbing his neck as he staggered home. The burial business was booming these days. You’d never seen an undertaker turn people down before the hunt began, but now there were waiting lists. A fast funeral was a commodity even in small communities like this one. I kept on until I’d become completely surrounded by fog. The dim glow of light from the town was an orange halo in the distance. I kept it in the corner of my eye so I wouldn’t wander beyond reason. Even so I had no idea where I was headed. 

“There’s no telling where she went.” Ratliff said. “We should turn back.” 

“We can’t leave her out alone.” I argued, “There’s no telling what damage she might do, but if you want to turn back be my guest.” 

“And abandon you to the unforgiving temptations of a fishing town?” She quipped. “Never cherry boy. We have to make sure you stay pure and unsullied.” 

“I’ve hunted before. I have blood on my hands.” I replied. 

Ratliff shook her head but wouldn’t further explain herself. 

The sky grew dark quick. Soon even the orange halo’s glow began to disappear. Before we were lost to the shadows completely, Ratliff pulled me into an inn. After my experience with Sig and Mikaela I was none too fond of boarding houses and temporary resting spots, but she promised a warm fire. It had all the same comfort as the kitchen aboard the Searider Falcon had, and I sat as close to the flames as I dared. Ratliff went to speak to the inn keeper and see if there was any word of a silver-haired girl with bare feet seen in the town. She came back with no news, but two foaming mugs. 

“I don’t drink.” I told her, “Head Vicar Lanthem says it dulls the senses.” 

“Ah but it warms the soul.” She countered pushing the mug towards me. “Come on Kohso, don’t make me drink alone.” 

I looked down at the tankard. It was a polished wood vessel that a thousand others had drunk from. What spirit-sullied sailors had pressed their lips to this cups rim and drained it of its unholy contents I could not fathom. The white foam on top of the drink had begun to dissipate, fizzling out into nothing. The liquid beneath was a yellow-brown, not the kind of color I would think suitable for consumption. 

“Sorry, I’ll pass.” I said pushing the drink back towards her. 

“Suit yourself.” Ratliff said. 

I kept glancing at the windows trying to find an excuse to leave. I was foiled by the weather. The fog became more oppressive, refusing to dissipate. Night fell and without a weapon at my side it would be dangerous to wander the streets. Being unarmed in unfamiliar territory, even to an experienced hunter like myself would be certain death. There was no choice but to wait it out. 

We seemed to be the only ones in the inn. Beyond the sound of the crackling fire and Ratliff slurping down her grog there was only silence. I was startled by the slightest variations; a log shifting, her mug being set down a little too roughly, even swallowing too loudly seemed to put me on edge. When I heard the barking at the door I nearly jumped out of my seat. 

I wasn’t alone. Ratliff’s head shot up, a moustache of foam layered over the top of her false one. Her eyes darted around the room. She stood up and changed seats so she was now facing the fire, back to the door. Her hands were clasping the sides of the table white-knuckle tight. 

“What’s going on?” I asked. 

“Face forward.” She hissed, “And don’t draw attention to yourself.” 

“What?” I asked 

There was no time for my questions to be answered. The front door burst open and I could hear the scattered scratching of dog’s claws on the wooden floor. They were followed by the sharp cold click of high-heeled boots and the crack of a cane as its owner crossed the floor at a measured pace. Whoever entered the inn brought the chill of night air in behind them. It seemed to be mixed with a cold that ran darker and deeper than any winter nature could brew. The warmth of the fire was rendered useless and a shiver ran down my spine. The tips of my fingers numbed themselves and I was once again cold down to the bones. 

There was the sound of haphazard footsteps as the innkeeper scrambled to wait on the new patrons. 

“Good evening Sir, Madam how can I-“ 

“Skip it.” The words cut the greeting off sharp and crisp. Like a blade. Like the click of the boots, the voice was female. 

“We’re in a rush.” The other explained. I took this one to be slightly older, and male. 

“Yes, of course.” The innkeeper replied, licking his lips nervously. 

“We’re looking for someone. A runaway.” The woman said. 

“Part of our company’s property.” The man elaborated. 

“We’re representatives from the Prestwick Company, and we require your assistance.” 

“O-of course.” The innkeeper stammered, “What can I-“ 

“I’ll be making a sweep of all the rooms. Nicholas you search the bar.” The woman said. 

“We gotta go.” Ratliff hissed. 

The clack of the cane became sharper as it neared us. The dogs snuffled and sniffed spreading out through the room. I started to stand. Ratliff gripped my sleeve and pulled me back down. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Subtly.” She growled, “Don’t draw attention.” 

“Well I’ve got to stand up to get out, if standing is drawing attention you can’t honestly believe that crawling out is going to be less conspicuous.” I said. 

“Just sto-“ 

Ratliff cut herself off and went stiff. The Prestwick hound was sniffing at her leg. Its large nose smeared snot and drool all over her pants. She tried to nudge it away with her foot, pushing the dog’s snout aside and shifting seating positions. The beast wouldn’t be discouraged so easily. 

“Go away.” Ratliff hissed, “Bad dog. Bad dog, go away.” 

Instead of listening to her it barked. The sound cut through the silence of the bar. It barked again and again, drawing the attention of its masters. 

“Alexandrine!” Nicholas shouted, “Think we’ve found something!” 

Ratliff shoved the dog away with her shoe. “Run for it!” she shouted flipping the table over and making a break for the door. I started after her. The dog jumped at me, digging it’s claws into my shirt. I let the fabric rip and scrambled away. Nicholas was as quick to react as his hounds, drawing a pistol and firing at us. Splinters exploded where the bullets made contact with tables and floorboards. 

“What are you doing?” The innkeeper asked. “Stop you can-“ 

There was another gun shot. 

The innkeeper never got to finish his sentence He didn’t even have time to look up and see the bullet that lodged itself into his head and ended his life. 

Ratliff tugged at the inn’s door but it wouldn’t budge. The dogs closed in on the both of us snarling and biting. Ratliff threw her empty mug at one of them, but the pair would not be dissuaded so easily. 

“Easy boys.” Alexandrine purred, descending the stairs to the boarding rooms she hadn’t yet had time to search. 

The dogs stopped their snarling and backed away a few paces. It was enough room for the Prestwicks to step in the scene. 

“Brother, this one looks familiar don’t you think?” Alexandrine asked as she looked over the both of us. She hooked a finger under Ratliff’s chin and turned it towards her brother. 

Nicholas turned his attention towards her. He grabbed one end of her false moustache and ripped it off. Ratliff winced. 

“Ah yes, now I see it.” Nicholas agreed, “She’s that rat that escaped us months ago.” 

“A fair prize indeed, though not the one we’d come to claim.” Alexandrine assessed. “And who might your friend be?” 

“Let him go, he’s not one of us.” Ratliff said. 

“It is strange. Your captain seems to have an aberrance towards the stronger sex.” Nicholas muttered, “Surely sister if the Captain let this one into their merry little band there must be something special about him.” 

“Exactly what I was thinking.” Alexandrine said. 

She reached past Ratliff and grabbed the door knob. She snapped her wrist, breaking the metal fixture off the wood, taking lock, mechanism and the handle from the opposite side off in a single motion. She let the useless metalwork fall to the floor. Alexandrine pushed the door open. 

“After you.” 

We didn’t have much choice. Either her pack of dogs or Nicholas’ gun or another unseen weapon would spell the end of us if we didn’t obey. Ratliff gave me a panicked look, then turned and started out the door. The night air hit me and I launched into a fit of coughing. The Prestwick company dogs didn’t like that and began to jump and bark. Alexandrine snapped her fingers and the dogs stopped their barking. They still stared at me, and their ears perked up with each new cough. They didn’t like me very much. 

“Where are you taking us?” Ratliff snarled as we stepped into the street. 

“Back where you belong you little rat.” Nicholas replied. 

I could only trust the Prestwick’s direction as we continued. Despite the fog and poor lighting they seemed to know exactly where they were going. The pace we were kept at was brisk, and there was a constant wind in our faces. It made breathing feel strange, trying to take in air that was blowing right into your face. My nostrils started to sting. 

“Don’t you have another runaway to chase?” Ratliff asked. “I doubt you came in there lookin’ for me.” 

They stopped and traded glances with each other. The dogs which walked beside us captives now came around front, cutting off our exited while they waited for their masters to make up their minds. 

“We should pursue him.” Alexandrine concluded. 

“That much is obvious.” Nicholas agreed, “We cannot let another elude us like this rat had.” 

“Well since you seem so intoxicated with the role of rat hunter why don’t you go after him?” She suggested, “I will detain these two.” 

“Nothing could suit me better, sister dear.” Nicholas grinned. He whistled and one of the dogs, the biggest of the lot took off with him. He reloaded his pistol as he ran, a ghost to the fog in seconds. He was unseen within a minute. 

Now there was just Alexandrine and her dog. She marched us along ever confident, undaunted by our evened numbers. We passed by the general shape of things but saw no specifics. Everything was hazy outlines exposed to us only by a few stray lamps. Alexandrine had a lantern attached to her belt, but she had yet to light it. She didn’t mind the darkness. 

We had yet to pass by anyone else. They were all locked in for the night, safe and warm. I was glad to see a town so careful, so cognizant of the hunt. There were no Thayne Gallimores parading up and down the streets carrying on about how we needn’t fear the night. Everyone had good sense here, but I was afraid even good sense wouldn’t be able to protect them from a loose Vileblood. 

“You’ve got to let us go.” I said, speaking as calmly as I could manage. 

She chuckled, “People are always saying that. They insist that you have to do one thing or you have to behave this way, but you really don’t. It’s not at all in my interest to let you go, so I won’t be doing it.” 

“You don’t understand.” I said, “It’s dangerous to be out at night.” 

Alexandrine chuckled once more, “You think I don’t know what it means to be a hunter, boy? I am not some delicate thing that must be cloistered away at the sight of blood. I live for hunting, as does my twin and many of my other siblings. You will find no better street cleansers then the Prestwick Family. Our lineage dates back to the very beginning of the hunt. Our family helped to fund Byrgenwerth college we-“ 

“Then surely you’re aware of the dangers of Vilebloods.” I said. 

“Cainhurst wretches.” She growled, “Yes what of them, boy?” 

“There is-“ 

Ratliff’s foot came down on top of mine hard. I grit my teeth and glared, holding in a mixture of pain and surprise. The dog began barking again. Ratliff shook her head back and forth. “Don’t tell her nothing, Kohso. Not a word.” 

“Kohso?” Alexandrine asked, “What an unusually pious name for a sea rat.” 

“I’m no sea rat ma’am.” I explained, “I’m a church novice.” 

“And a hunter I presume?” She asked. 

“No he’s just-“ Ratliff started. 

Alexandrine stomped down on Ratliff’s foot- mirroring the girl’s silencing technique. Ratliff yelped and grabbed her injured foot hopping about in pain. “Nothing more from you. As you were saying, boy?” 

“Nothing.” I lied, “Nothing whatever.” 

Ratliff gave me a relieved grin. Alexandrine raised her eyebrow. She didn’t believe me. Of course she didn’t believe me, I was no swindler. I couldn’t lie on my feet like some of my brothers. Navigating a web of falsehoods would be uncharted territory for me, impossible to know where to go next. 

“I doubt they teach church novices nothing.” Alexandrine said. 

I gulped, “Well, I-“ 

“He wasn’t particularly smart.” Ratliff offered. “Never got past his letters.” 

Alexandrine raised her boot for another stomp. I stepped further into the web, “No, no she’s right. I couldn’t memorize the Anointed Texts or any of the holy prayers. They couldn’t trust me with words, so I was never trusted with a blade.” 

“You don’t strike me as a dullard.” Alexandrine said. 

“Just look at him.” Ratliff argued, “He can’t even get clothes that fit right. His hairs all short in the back and sides but long in the front. That’s not because of style, he just forgot to take care of the front part entirely. He’s coughing all the time and hardly knows how to hold a weapon much less wield one.” 

I nodded. “It’s true.” 

It wasn’t, but Alexandrine was suitably convinced. She didn’t believe us entirely, but it was enough to get her to stop asking questions. I didn’t know why Ratliff wanted me to keep quiet but I was part of her crew. I would stand with the Searider Falcon until she took me to Yharnam, and that meant loyalty to my superiors. She couldn’t possibly explain her plan to me now, but I’d been in situations like this before. I would just have to have faith she could see this through. 

Ratliff certainly wouldn’t be my first pick of who to trust. The girl couldn’t get a false moustache to sit straight, and now she was trying to con a very capable woman. We had no advantages and no weapons. 

There was also the matter of Fwahe. If Alexandrine was a huntress, then she and her brother could do something to prevent bloodshed tonight. Keeping Fwahe from feeding might end in capture for both Ratliff and myself but at least the town would be safe. It seemed like we were going to become Prestwick property either way, might as well try to save a few lives while we had the opportunity. That was not the way things were going to go. 

Every sound in the distance I judged to be malicious. I couldn’t remember the last time being out at night had made me this jumpy. The darkness in this small village was an entirely different creature from shadowy Yharnam. In the city there was always another alleyway to duck into, a door to brace against, a wall to climb. Out here everything was open. The only cover we had was the fog, which also covered our enemies. We couldn’t see them but I was sure the beasts could smell us. 

Nothing startled Alexandrine. She continued as though she hadn’t heard a thing. Her head never swiveled towards a snapping stick or creaking door hinge. 

“Don’t you think we should be making preparations?” I asked. 

“What do you mean?” she replied. 

“Well to protect the denizens of course.” I said, “Night is here, the beasts will soon be upon them.” 

“This village is not under the Prestwick Company’s protection. They’re not our concern.” She shrugged. “Additionally they seem to have survived this long. Whatever protections and fortifications they have in place for themselves are working, I see no reason to interfere.” 

“But-“ 

“Of course he wouldn’t know that because he’s not a hunter.” Ratliff said. 

“You defend him so readily.” Alexandrine commented, “Is he not only the captain’s pet but yours as well, rat?” 

“I can defend myself just fine.” I insisted. 

“Apparently not.” She scoffed, “The church didn’t think so and nor do I. Now I’ve had enough of this abhorrent chatter, kindly refrain from speaking lest I let my hound slip.” 

That kept the both of us quiet, and we marched on. The ground began to slope downward. The vague shapes in the distance faded behind us, vanishing into obscurity. There were no more to find. All light had vanished and still she would not light the lamp and grant us vision. Even if she did release us now we wouldn’t be able to find our way back to the inn, let alone the Searider herself. We were lost without a landmark to guide us. 

The wind grew colder and I turned the collar of my shirt up to try and block it. I longed for the warm woolen hood of my church robes. The harsh winter wind cut across my scalp. Keeping the majority of my head closely shaved was nice for style but did little to protect against the chill. I momentarily wished it were as long as Roshin’s, so that it might be hood and scarf all in one. I shook my head, clearing the ridiculous thought away. It must be the cold making my mind wander. I was being marched into captivity, I shouldn’t let my thoughts stray so. 

I nearly tripped over Ratliff. She had stopped and the dog had stopped. Everyone but me had halted, and I stumbled awkwardly hopping to the side to avoid collision. The dog growled as I regained my footing and stepped back into place. 

“Sorry.” I muttered. 

“Shh!” Alexandrine hissed. 

She had pulled back her overcoat. I could see her hand hovering above the hilt of something. The ears of her dog stood straight up as it to listened. The animal and its mistress were of one mind. The sounds they could explain didn’t bother them, but now something unexperienced had reached their ears. I hadn’t been paying attention and didn’t know what it was. 

I took a half step closer to Ratliff. Alexandrine moved slightly closer to us. I looked around at the fog, staring into nothingness. I didn’t hear anything. We waited poised there for a good three minutes and there wasn’t a sound besides the wind ruffling the branches of bare trees. 

“Press on then.” Alexandrine decided. 

The pauses grew more frequent. I learned to anticipate the dog’s sudden stops, and walked as far back as it would allow. I needed all the stopping room I could gain, everything happened in the blink of an eye. We were walking and then we weren’t. Walk, pause and continue, the endless cycle. I didn’t think it had taken Ratliff and I this long to come into town. Even though we had been running then and walking now it felt like we should’ve reached the water. We should be able to see the faint shape of the sails of the Searider Falcon. I didn’t hear the water or smell butchered fish. All my senses told me we were far from the sea, but I still felt it should be there, close enough to touch. 

There wasn’t even a sound until she was on the ground. The dog, so in tuned and so aware didn’t have a second to get a bark out before it’s mistress was felled. She failed to draw her weapon, and I didn’t even know she was being attacked until I heard the hard thump of a body hitting the ground. Crouched on top of Alexandrine was a girl with a familiar wardrobe and ragged silver hair. Fwahe had taken the Lady Prestwick down in the blink of an eye. 

The huntress was quick to react however. She grabbed a handful of pebbles, flinging dirt and sand into the Vileblood’s face. The dog, finally sensing its mistress’ distress gave a growl and leapt onto Fwahe’s back. She screamed as the hound’s claws tore into her flesh. 

“Well don’t just stand there!” Ratliff shouted as she charged into help. She barreled into the dog full force, knocking it off Fwahe. The both of them landed hard on the ground at odd angles. The dog was on its side and had to paw at the air several times before gaining enough momentum to flip itself over. The second it was righted, Ratliff flung her arms around its neck, holding the hound back. It snarled and bit at her, the two of them rolling across the ground locked in combat. 

Fwahe and Alexandrine were similarly engaged. The huntress had managed to push the Vileblood off her, and had drawn her weapon. The gleaming silver blade was thin and sharp. She struck out at Fwahe, but her adversary was too fast. Fwahe dodged every swipe and stab with practiced grace. So long as Ratliff kept the dog occupied it seemed as though she could dance like this for hours. 

I felt like my shoes had been forged of cast iron, every time I took a step towards the battle I was too slow. I couldn’t decide if Fwahe was worth helping. Saving the Vileblood from drowning at sea was one thing, but to intercede now would be coming between a hunter and a beast. She was Alexandrine’s kill to have. Somehow I found I was unwilling to let that happen. As I stepped in to assist I wondered whether I would be saving beasts from Executioners next. 

Fwahe kept Alexandrine dancing, allowing me to grab the Lady Prestwick’s free hand. I grabbed her by the wrist and dug in my heels, wrenching backward and then flinging her over my shoulder. She was lighter than I had hoped and went down easier than expected. Alexandrine hit the ground with a thud. I hoped the impact would be enough to make her drop her weapon, but she gripped the hilt all the tighter. 

“A church hunter who lies..” she groaned, “That’s just bad form.” 

“And killing a man in cold blood is any better?” I asked, keeping her pinned down, my boot on her chest. 

“Do not blame me for the sins of my brother.” She returned, “He’s the bloodthirsty one.” 

“There’s no shortage spilled between the both of you.” 

“This coming the one who leapt to the defense of that blood-sucker?” 

Fwahe’s foot came down hard on Alexandrine’s wrist. I heard a crack and a scream. Fwahe picked up the discarded sword and ran to help Ratliff. With the weapon’s aid they made quick work of their enemy. Ratliff was bleeding in several places, but seemed to have been spared any life-threatening damage. 

“Let’s get outta here.” She said. 

“What about-“ 

Fwahe slammed the hilt of her newly acquired sword into its previous owner’s temple. There was a dull thunk, and then Alexandrine slumped into the dirt, unconscious. 

“The beasts will surely come for her.” I said. 

“So?” Ratliff asked, “She tried to kidnap us.” 

“And that means we have to leave her to die?” 

Fwahe and Ratliff exchanged a look. “Yes.” They agreed in unison. 

“Her brother will come back for her.” Ratliff elaborated. “She’ll be fine. Now come on, let’s go. We need to warn the captain.” 

She grabbed my wrist and we took off before I could offer further argument. We disappeared into the fog with only a stolen sword to protect us and a looted lamp to guide the way. It was going to be difficult to get our bearings, but the Vileblood seemed to know where she was going. She took point and began to steer us back uphill, back what I believed was the path we’d just come. I thought about asking how far it would be to the Searider Falcon, but if she didn’t actually know where she was going, I didn’t want to know either. I had to believe that this Vileblood could get us back, that would be a reason to justify defending her. 

I could feel myself straying from the church. I was lying to hunters. If I were to see the Executioners again, look Alfred in the fact once more, how was I to tell him that I had saved Fwahe’s life twice over? I was supposed to deliver her to them for a proper execution and yet I prevented a capable hunter from performing the task. I couldn’t let that happen again. Resolving to never come between that which sought to end her, I followed the monster into the oppressive fog trusting her to lead us back to safety. We walked until it seemed my feet were going to fall clean off. The pace Fwahe set was inhuman. For every brisk, unforgiving step she took Ratliff had to limp along twice. The injuries she’d sustained from the hound were starting to hold her back. Beyond just battle damage fatigue was a real problem for the both of us. Still neither of us asked to slow down or take a break, we had to deliver the news of the Prestwicks with all haste. 

Just as I was sure I couldn’t stomach another step the skeletal masts of ships came into view. They were barely visible against the dark sky, so indistinguishable from the deeper darkness that surrounded them I had to double check with Ratliff to make sure they were really there. The sound of waves and creaking ships timber made themselves known as we drew nearer to Captain Roshin Vithiril’s vessel. 

“Hope there’s still someone on board.” Ratliff said as she struggled up the gangplank. The incline was not kind to her wounds. 

As we drew level with the deck I noticed that there wasn’t a single light to be seen. Dread welled in the pit of my stomach to see the Searider so devoid of life. There was something about it that simply wasn’t right. 

“Captain!” I shouted. 

There was no response. I began to worry that somehow Nicholas Prestwick had discovered the ship and snatched away its crew. My heart started beating faster when I heard footsteps clattering across the deck. A hand was over my mouth before my eyes could process the shape of the person who’d put it there. I blinked a few times, trying to forestall the imminent panic, and found, to my relief I was looking into the eyes of a friend. 

Delphine removed her hand from my face and pressed a finger to her lips. We all nodded our understanding. She was joined by Sereja and Meru both of whom had done the same to Ratliff and Fwahe. I did not envy the one who had had to put her hands on that creature. Sereja took the lantern and extinguished it’s flame between two fingers. They took us along the starboard side of the ship, guiding us with nudges or grabbing our hands if we strayed. We reached the door to the captain’s cabin and they hurried us inside, locking the door behind us. The click of the turning key sounded as loud as a gunshot after the tense silence of our walks in the darkness. 

Moonlight shone through windows in Roshin’s quarters. I was able to find the faces of her crew despite the odd cast the blue-white light gave their faces. Ottilie sat on Roshin’s bed half-buried in a sea of pillows and blankets. Harker leaned against the window frame staring out into the empty sea. Merribelle was sitting on top of Roshin’s nightstand. Looking closer I noticed she was holding Ottilie’s hand. The Captain was bent over a desk, forefingers pressed to her temple, deep in thought. 

“What’s going on?” Ratliff whispered. 

“Prestwick’s aboard.” Sereja hissed back. 

“Damn.” Ratliff said, “We already got captured by those fuckers once today, I’ll not stand for them on my ship!” 

She snatched a gun from the wall, and began to check the chamber for bullets. Roshin grabbed the barrel of her gun before she could storm off. “This ship is mine, and I’ll say how we defend it. Savvy?” 

Ratliff accepted her Captain’s orders without question. She shook the bullets from their chamber and handed them to Roshin. The gun was put back in its place. 

“So what’s your plan?” Fwahe asked. 

“Right now it looks like there’s only one of them prowling.” Roshin said, “And he can’t take on all of us at once. We didn’t strike back at first because we were afraid that they had you hostage. Now that you’re here we can mount a counterstrike but I don’t think going in guns blazing is going to go very well. It’s Nicholas Prestwick we’re dealing with and he’s a much better shot then you.” 

“I could-“ 

“No you can’t.” Delphine agreed, “And there’s no use arguing about it.” 

“Aye.” Ratliff sighed. 

“We’ll do it the proper hunter’s way.” Roshin said. “No one here is a hunter of hunters, I’ll grant you all that. Still I reckon the Prestwick’s all have a touch of madness in them, and they’ve gone far enough. They deserve to die by the sword, and shall he best the lot of us we hardly deserved to live anyway. You’re all my trusted crew and there isn’t a bad fighter amongst you.” 

I could feel the pride swelling in the chests of Roshin’s shipmates. Compliments from their captain made their spirits soar. 

“That being said we can’t all go. Drawing too much attention could spell death for any one of us, and I intend to escape this man without a scratch. Sereja and I will hunt him down and dispose of him before he has a chance to do any damage. The minute we get back, make all preparations to set sail. We’ll come around to the main port and liberate the Prestwick’s captives before the crew has time to realize their captain’s been slain.” 

“Aye Captain!” they chorused. 

“Get Ratliff patched up.” Roshin added. 

“I’ll attend her.” Delphine replied. 

The Captain nodded to a crow. She slipped silently through the door Sereja held open for her. I watched the moonlight glint off the blade of her sword before she vanished into the shadows. Sereja followed, shutting the door behind her. Merribelle snapped the door’s locks closed behind them. 

With no small amount of cursing Ratliff hobbled over to the bed and took a seat next to Ottilie. The little sailor shifted out of her cave of pillows and blankets to make room for her. Delphine took a medic’s bag from her shoulder and went to work, cleaning cuts and bandaging the larger wounds. There’d been countless times Yilmarie had worked with whatever was at hand to create a quick splint or makeshift bandage. Delphine seemed to have inherited the same skill for field medics, tearing some of Roshin’s shirts to pieces when her supplies started to exhaust themselves. Blood soaked into expensive silks forever marring their patterns. 

“What happened to you?” Merribelle asked. 

“Prestwick’s damn dog.” Ratliff grimaced. 

“We didn’t see you getting attacked by any dog.” Delphine said. 

Ratliff shook her head, “The other Prestwick. Fwahe took care of her, and the dog.” 

“The same that you went chasing after to get captured in the first place?” Delphine asked. 

Ratliff held up her hands in surrender, “Hey it was cherry boy’s idea to go tearing through town looking for her. I just didn’t want him to get hurt.” 

“How very noble of you.” Harker chuckled. 

Delphine turned to me. Even in the dim moonlight I could see her eyes burning with the importance of what she had to say. “Fwahe has proven herself a companion. She was welcome into our crew and you need to trust her the same as any of us. Whatever prejudice you bring with you from the church is yours alone. You cannot let it affect the decisions you make when you travel with us.” 

“But she’s a Vileblood.” I scoffed. 

“A Vileblood who rescued you, just as you had rescued her from the sea.” Delphine said. 

“When we were on the Prestwick boat, I was only there so that she could eat me!” I retorted. 

Delphine handed Ratliff’s foot to Ottilie and passed her a rag soaked in alcohol. Ottilie dutifully dabbed at Ratliff’s cuts while Delphine crossed the room to stand before me. I had never thought of myself as small, but Delphine stood a full head taller than me. Her arms were huge, hardened from months spent working the ship’s wheel. I was intimidated. 

We stared at each other for several seconds. She made a show of walking around me, looking me up and down. She made several circuits, pausing at times and craning her head this way and that. “I can’t seem to find any teeth-marks. There are no bites taken out of you. Tell me Kohso just where did she begin to feast?” 

“Well..uh…she never actually…did.” I admitted. 

“She didn’t attack you when you were her only source of sustenance?” Delphine asked. 

“Aye. That’s correct.” I said. 

“And since being aboard the good ship Searider Falcon she has still refrained from attacking you. Additionally, she hasn’t made any attack on our crew.” Delphine said. 

“Well technically she did threaten to kill Ottilie when we first met.” Ratliff added. Ottilie nodded her agreement, not wanting her part of the story to be left out. 

“That was a little different.” Harker said, “Everyone is a little crazy in a panic like that. How many of the hunter’s we’ve liberated have tried to kill us?” 

There was silence while the crew considered the question. 

“At least a dozen.” Meru hypothesized. 

“Exactly.” Delphine continued. “So whatever you’ve got against her, set it aside. We’ll take you back to your town and once we’ve parted ways you can go back to your wild goose chases. What you did today was dangerous, you gave up our position and got yourselves captured. Everything was riding on a surprise attack and you blew our cover because you were worried about something that wasn’t a real problem. Make your choice now Kohso, set this aside or go ashore. I’ll not tolerate it aboard our ship.” 

Fwahe was behind me, but all the same I was sure she was smiling. I could feel her smug grin burning into the back of my neck. I bent forward, bowing my head to Delphine. I would continue to let my hatred for the Vileblood burn, but she was right. I hadn’t considered the needs of the Captain and crew before charging off after Fwahe. We really were lucky that none of us had died. Nicholas Prestwick’s gun could’ve been the end of it. I alone could’ve been the reason for the bloodshed I sought to prevent. 

“Please accept my deepest apologies.” I said to Delphine. “It will not happen again.” 

“That’s all fine and good, but it’s hardly me you need to apologize too.” The helmsmen replied. 

All eyes watched as I turned towards Fwahe. The flesh-eater’s sharpened teeth sparkled in the moonlight, mocking me. The scars and opposite eyes Fwahe sported looked even stranger in the half-light. My stomach turned just looking at her. She was one of the things standing in the way of my return to Yharnam. I’d never get there without the Searider Falcon, so I swallowed my pride. 

“I’m sorry.” I said with all the sincerity that I could manage. I bowed to her just as I had to Delphine. 

Fwahe blinked. She waited, staring down at me for a few moments. Then she shrugged and said, “Alright.” 

“Good. That’s settled.” Delphine said, sliding her hand together several times as though she was clearing dust from them. She left me and resumed tending to Ratliff’s injuries. I no longer struggled under the weight of her gaze. 

The Captain’s cabin was quite roomy in comparison to the quarters she’d provided the rest of us. Despite the expanded size it was still rather cramped quarters with all of us packed inside. There was nowhere to sit down. I had to remain standing with Fwahe at my back. She was closest to the door, poised to fly out of it at a moment’s notice. She still had Alexandrine’s sword. I was still unarmed. 

“How long do you suppose it’s going to be, Delph?” Harker asked. 

Delphine finished tying off the final bandage, snipping the silk in two with a pair of surgeon’s scissors. “Reckon it won’t take long. Sereja and Roshin are well suited to the task. Steady on all the same, give them time. They haven’t been gone long.” 

“Aye.” Harker agreed. 

Meru took some cards from her pocket and tempted Harker into a game. They played on Roshin’s table spreading the four suits out across her many maps. They managed to deal and shuffle all without disturbing any of her instruments. Their fingers danced across the wooden tabletop nimbly avoiding even so small a disturbance as the cluster of pens resting on the far edge of her desk. 

I watched them as they played trying to devise the objective of the game. There appeared to be a good deal of counting involved, though not a word was exchanged between the pair. They played silently, only narrated by the shuffle and swipe of cards being shifted. Merribelle continued to hold Ottilie’s hand. Delphine re-packed her bag carefully corking bottles and tightening the lids of her medicines. Fwahe picked dirt out of her toenails with the tip of her newly acquired sword. 

Everyone was so quiet and serene that when we heard the gunshot it seemed loud enough to shatter glass. 

“What was that?” Merribelle asked, her face going pale. 

“They didn’t take a gun.” Delphine said, grim realization coming over her face. 

Then it was Nicholas. The gunshot had to have come from him. The sound of a dog barking started up. With each of its many bursts of barking Ottilie jumped. 

“We’ve got to go help them.” Merribelle said 

“We don’t know for a fact that they’re in trouble.” Delphine said, “The Captain said to wait here.” 

“And just how long are we supposed to wait?” Ratliff asked, “That shot could’ve killed one of them. That shot could’ve-“ 

“More likely than not it was a panicked reaction.” Delphine said. She tried to hold her voice steady but couldn’t keep the anxious quiver out of it completely. “Rushing up there could jeopardize everything. We’ve got to just trust our captain, and hold tight.” 

Roshin had left Delphine in charge, and no matter how many questions pressed at the brains of the crew, they followed orders. We settled in to wait. Cards were shuffled and dealt. Ratliff shambled over to Roshin’s nightstand and located a bottle of rum. The crew passed it around taking a few sips to calm the nerves. I gave it a sniff but the sharp tang of alcohol was enough to assure me I didn’t want any. I passed it behind me. Fwahe took a swig and let the bottle continue its circuit. Everyone tried to relax in their own ways as we waited, eyes constantly darting to the door to see what had happened on deck. 

None of us were really prepared for what waited on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	8. Something is Going to Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> off a shelf or in love? Theres plenty of kinds of falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always please let me know what you think!

I started to find myself cluttering the work room. Despite the close proximity of my own private quarters, I tended to sleep in there. Most of my meals were brought to me, and remnants of dinners gone by were piled on dirty plates left on empty examination tables. Parchment spilled across every surface, I had no filing system. The sleeves of my choir robes were quickly tainted with ink, and the tile floors that Peter strove to keep clean were dirtied by spilled tea and ink stains. He did his best, but he couldn’t keep up with me. 

I took every opportunity to keep people out of the room. I hardly ventured beyond it myself. If someone needed me I would step out rather than allow them in. Doctor Lee came by regularly to check my work. My notes were taken in the messiest scrawl I could manage. She would squint and strain and blink at them but seemed unable to discern what they said. After a few minutes of this she would scold me to write more clearly next time. I assured her I’d re-copy anything of actual importance in neater hand for her private study. This always satisfied her. 

In order to keep up this ruse I found myself giving away small pieces of information. I let Caryll’s world trickle into Doctor Lee’s hands piece by piece. Despite only allowing her the smallest details I couldn’t help but feel I was betraying the Runesmith. She had kept these things hidden for a reason, and here I was exposing her secrets to someone who was clearly going to abuse them. 

Caryll had done me the kindness of hiding her secrets well. I was still having trouble translating the majority of her text, written in her own code. The things I seemed able to decode were just footnotes. Often they were jokes, the things schoolchildren scrawled in the margins of their notebooks. It seemed all those years ago that she’d had a sense of humor. I was starting to loose mine when faced with the abysmal lack of progress. 

“You just need to loosen up a little.” Izaius insisted. 

He had insisted I get some air after spending two weeks completely devoted to my studies. He either stole a key or picked a lock to get into Doctor Lee’s office. I’d asked him about it and he shrugged, insisting I take the day off for a tour. 

I’d seen very little of Yhar’Ghul since my arrival. My knowledge was limited to the route from the Choir’s College to the dining hall. Taking the time to sight see felt like a waste, and I was hoping to speed us through the process. 

“I’m plenty relaxed.” I said. 

He chuckled, “If you were wound any tighter you’d snap in half. What’s gotten you this way?” 

A pit full of children sacrifices chained beneath the very streets we walked on would’ve been my go-to. Instead I just muttered something about Doctor Lee being strict. Izaius nodded his understanding. 

“She is quite the task master; I’ll grant you that. Still she’s not wholly unreasonable. I’m sure if you were to ask for a little time to yourself she’d be more than happy to grant it. I could put in a good word for you.” He offered. 

I shook my head. “Blame lies with me as well. I confess I’ve become rather obsessed with translating that book.” 

Izaius clapped a hand to his heart with over embellished fervor, “Good Brother Yilmarie, you wound me! Choosing dusty books instead of new friends, how could you?” 

I laughed, “It used to happen all the time. I’d never leave the basement if Kohso and Eros hadn’t dragged me out every now and again.” 

“Well allow me to fill their shoes.” Izaius insisted, “Come on, there’s much to see.” 

There really was something to be said for getting away from the situation. I would never be able to forget the Godschild that lurked beneath the city or the hollow-eyed children it consumed, but I could cover it for the moment. I could drape a cloth over it and only have to see the outline of it, rather than the unapologetic up close and personal version. 

Izaius had spoken true about the city. We walked along the third level of crisscrossing bridges so that we could look down at the things we passed by. The first few streets seemed to be owned by the Choir alone. Everyone was in black caps and white robes, from the people who carried produce into the kitchens to the elders playing cards in the courtyard. The extent of the choir was larger than I ever could’ve imagined. Most hunters didn’t live to see old age, but that didn’t seem to be a problem in Yhar’Ghul. 

“This is all Choir-owned space.” Izaius explained, “They occupy a significant portion of the city and while it’s filled with maintained gardens and streets with clear directions I find It all rather boring. We’ve got to go where the denizens live to really see what the city’s like.” 

I reasoned that could only be half-true. We’d still be dressed in Choir robes and I imagined that would afford us a certain deal of protection from unsavory characters. We were unlikely to get robbed so long as we stayed dressed as we were. Izaius continued along the pathway and I followed after him. 

Dull colors began to mingle with the white robes as we went along. The pointed blindfold caps transitioned to silk top hats and cotton bonnets as we carried on. The streets were still just as clean as the Choir’s territory but now they were peppered with carriages and corner salesmen. Denizens drew water from wells, stopping along their way to tip hats and talk to neighbors. When he judged we were a fair distance from the Choir’s domain Izaius led me down a winding spiral staircase. We bypassed the bridges it led off onto and took directly to the streets. 

“Where are we going?” I asked him as he led me on a circuit of the well. 

He waved a hand at me, “Don’t worry about it.” 

His waving attracted the attention of a flower seller. Rather than explain the situation to her, he exchanged a copper coin for a white carnation. Izaius let the flower rest in the button hole of his red jacket and thanked the girl. 

“Were you intending that?” I asked. 

“Not in the slightest.” Izaius replied. He titled his new adornment towards me, “But it looks rather nice. Don’t you like flowers, Good Brother Yilmarie?” 

“Yes actually.” I replied, “I find the study of botany to be quite fascinating. You’ve no idea how many uses some plants can have, though I fear carnations are far from the most interesting.” 

“Well next time you’ll have to steer me towards a more enlightened choice.” He said. 

“I’d be glad too.” I agreed. 

The denizens did not behave as they had when I was first arriving in Yharnam. They didn’t stop and bow as we passed by or make a big scene. Everyone was incredibly polite all the same, stepping aside so that we could pass by and the like. Even the persistent barkers hawking their wares didn’t give us the hard sell. We passed pies and toffee apples and silk ribbons without being entreated to buy. It was downright unnatural. 

Izaius let me stop and stare at anything I liked for as long as I wanted. There was no rush, no pace that need be kept. He was just as willing to take the main road as turn down a side street should something strike our collective curiosity. It so often did. 

My eyes were drawn to a book shop. It was much larger than the one I’d frequented in Yharnam, so large that there were multiple shelves outside for potential browsing. No one was inspecting the volumes stacked on them, nor did the copper bell above the door jingle as people left with brown-paper parcels to take home and read later. No pick-pockets surveyed the scene trying to land their eyes on an easy target. There wasn’t a single shopper doing any shopping. All of the potential patrons were gathered around the stairs to the shop, looking up at a choir member who seemed to be entertaining the whole lot. 

“Looks like Good Sister Calliban is at it again.” Izaius said. 

We came closer until we could hear her story. She told it with as much passion and energy as she had during our trek to the city. When she noticed us drawing near she tipped her head towards us. Izaius settled onto the railing by the stairs and I sat on the step beneath him. 

“So miss what’d he do after eatin’ that beast?” one of the younger listeners asked. 

Callie chuckled, “That’s a whole other story.” 

“Well we’d like to hear it, if you’d be so kind.” Izaius said. “Since we seem to have missed your first tale.” 

“Oh come now, isn’t one story enough for all of you?” Callie asked. 

The denizens shook their heads. Callie sighed, “Well I suppose if you insist, there are many more tales of Hari Harel to be told. No one is fooling me though, I am sure many of you have heard this one before. It is the story of Hari Harel and the Spider’s Web.” 

A few scattered cheers and whispered opinions were exchanged between denizens. 

“Things were going pretty well for a time. Hari Harel was afforded a new position in life, with plenty of advantages and lots of admirers. There was never a shortage of food or drink, and his needs were seen to. He adjusted to this life rather easily, but it soon became more complicated than it had first seemed. The denizens of Yharnam started to expect things from him. They wanted his opinions on defending the city. 

Now you must remember, that it was not cunning that had saved Yharnam from the beast that ravaged its streets. It was hunger that kept the city safe, and Hari Harel hungered no more. When he was asked what materials should be used in the construction of the city’s barricades he shrugged and sipped his wine. If he was asked whether swords or axes should be given to the city’s patrol units, he would take another bite of kidney pie and pretend he hadn’t heard. Still if the questions persisted and Hari Harel was pressed to finally give an answer he would say something so ridiculous it couldn’t possibly be right. 

These were desperate days, and many of Hari Harel’s ideas were tried in spite of being nonsense. When he suggested they round up every dog in the city and teach it to swim as a solution to keeping the population of crows from mutating, a whole brigade of dog trainers was organized. Of course the swimming dogs didn’t help anyone, except a few fiscally minded fellows who organized a dog racing competition. They made some quick coin before the whole idea was scrapped. 

“You’re not a hero you’re a disaster.” The mayor said. 

“Blimey.” Replied Hari Harel, “Didn’t really mean to be either.” 

“Well I simply can’t have you and your silly schemes running my city. You’re supposed to be the hero of Yharnam!” 

“I am?” he asked genuinely surprised. 

The mayor threw up his hands in exasperation. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! Our town can no longer support someone with your enormous appetite and teeny-tiny brain. We’ve got to send you away.” 

Now Hari Harel didn’t want to lose his position. This was the best he’d eaten in his entire life, so as he departed the mayor’s office he decided he would simply fill his empty brain and return. The world was full of dangers, but Hari Harel was too dull to be aware of them. He took his overly long coat, his cleaver and the soup pot he used for a helmet and headed out beyond the limits of Yharnam. 

The food he’d taken with him was gone in a matter of hours and soon our hero’s hunger returned. The world was a lot wilder then it is now, and the paths through the woods were hardly marked at all. He had no idea where he was headed, for this was his first of many journeys into the woods. The path he walked he would cross again many times, but this was the first he had ever seen of the Forbidden Woods. 

Hari Harel took a liking to the place. At regular intervals balls of coiled snakes would fall from the trees. Hari Harel had to eat his way out of several, crunching through snake’s bones and all. They would coil around him tight trying to squeeze the air from his lungs, or crack his ribs, but Hari Harel ate faster than they could attack. 

This lasted for a long time, and our hero thought he might try and make a go of it in the woods. He built a house of sticks for himself and would feast on the snakes that tried to kill him. The food wasn’t as good as the feasts he’d attended in Yharnam, but it was just as plentiful. Hari Harel found himself quite satisfied- until the snakes began to grow. They grew into larger and larger monsters writhing together and knotting themselves into larger and more hopelessly tangled messes. Their coils were so thick that not even the well-strengthened teeth of Hari Harel could get through them. He was forced to move on and leave the Forbidden Woods. 

The country outside of the woods was barren, ravaged by careless farmers until the soil could no longer bear crops. Everything was abandoned and crumbling, not even scavenging animals remained to pick through the debris. Hari Harel slept in crumbling inns and weather-beaten barns. Dried straw crumbled to dust beneath his boots. All of the leaves were brown and withered falling apart into powder at the slightest touch. There wasn’t a thing to keep out the cold or stave off the hunger. Hari Harel wandered the wastes, his thoughts only of his home. 

They say he walked for a hundred days and nights before he saw any sign of civilization. Somewhere between the Forbidden Woods and forgotten places, Hari Harel had stumbled upon an old schoolhouse. There was smoke rising from the chimney, lights in the windows and the smell of cooking spices filled the air. Hari Harel put on a sudden burst of speed and rushed up the school house steps and through the door. He looked on from the back of the room, relieved at the scene before him. 

Standing by the chalkboard in the front of the schoolhouse was a figure with a pale face and black robes. Hari Harel figured her for a nun. The rows and rows of seats were lined with children, all wrapped up tightly in finely woven white blankets. The blankets went over their heads like hoods and wound around their feet so that their toes wouldn’t get cold. They all looked uniform, and Hari Harel could not tell which ones were boys and which ones were girls. He didn’t want to interrupt the school teacher to ask for one of the finely made blankets, so he continued to stand at the back of the room and just enjoy being inside solid walls once again. 

Then Hari Harel remembered that really this was what he was meant to be doing all along. The mayor of Yharnam had sent him out to get an education. Perhaps if he was able to learn a thing or two he would be able to return home. Hari Harel took a step closer, straining his ears to hear what the nun had to say. The nun’s voice was very faint and he couldn’t make out a whisper of what she was saying from the back of the room. His foot came down on a creaky floorboard, and the nun’s pale face jerked towards him. 

Her face was like none Hari Harel had ever seen. It seemed to be both a pale mask and the breathing flesh of a human all at once. He didn’t know what to make of what he saw. 

“Blimey.” said Hari Harel, “Beggin’ your pardon miss but do you mind speakin’ up a tad? I can’t ‘ardly ‘ear what yer sayin’!” 

The nun spoke up immediately, which only served to further confuse our hero for the words didn’t come out in a feminine voice. “My apologies, dear friend. I had not seen you lurking in the back of the room, won’t you come closer?” 

Now Hari Harel was of no great wit but he had grown up on the seedy streets of Yharnam and he knew a suspicious character when he saw one. Anybody who spoke with a voice they should not gave him pause. He took a tentative step forward but came no closer. 

“Shy then are we?” The nun asked. 

“Ain’t ” Hari Harel quipped, “Only we ‘aven’t been proper introduced.” 

“How rude of me.” She said. She took a step away from the chalkboard. The floor boards creaked and Hari Harel thought he could hear the steps of more than two feet whenever she walked. “My name is Patches.” 

Now Hari Harel was still of no great intelligence but he could see that this was not the kind of name a nun ought to have. At the very least she would have called herself “Miss Patches”. Hari Harel had been scolded by enough nuns to know. Still he told her his name, but stepped no closer. 

Patches was now level with the first row of blanketed children. They did not turn to look at her, still fixing their eyes on the chalkboard in front of them. “Won’t you come have a seat?” Patches asked. 

Hari Harel was very tired. He’d been traveling a great distance, and really he did not want to be rude to the first company he’d had in weeks. Patches was strange to be sure, but there was always the chance that he was just a long way from Yharnam and things were done a bit differently here. Either way the school house was the only building around, so Hari Harel took his chances and sat down. 

“Thank you.” He said. 

“What brings you to our schoolhouse?” Patches asked. 

“Well to be ‘onest, I’m tryin’ to learn a few things. I’m from a long way off n’ if I’m to protect my town I ‘as to know more things than I do now.” Hari Harel explained. 

Patches laughed, “Well my dear friend, you couldn’t have come to a better place for it.” 

Hari Harel sighed in relief. To know he was on the right path put his mind at ease. He relaxed in the warm school house and focused on Patches’ voice. She began to sing softly. Hari Harel leaned in closer to listen, straining his ears to hear what the nun had to say. Hari Harel couldn’t make out a word of what was sung, but the warmth of the school room and the mellow tune started to make his head feel heavy. Hari Harel’s eyelids fluttered, then fell unable to stay open for even a single second longer. His head nodded and Hari Harel fell asleep. 

If it had not been for the growling of Hari Harel’s great stomach he might have stayed asleep forever. It thundered louder than all the beasts then all the hunters had killed since that day combined. It shook the school and rattled him out of his slumber. 

As Hari Harel’s weary eyes opened he couldn’t remember where he was. It all came back to him in a sudden rush when he heard the skittering steps of Patches. Gone was the distance between the two of them. Patches robes had vanished, a disguise all along. What had once hidden behind layers of silk and cloth wrappings was revealed. Instead of a woman’s body there was the bulbous body of a spider, covered in coarse black hairs. More legs then Hari Harel’s tired mind could count clicked across the floor as Patches circled around and around him. 

Hari Harel looked down and saw that he was covered from his toes to his knees with the white cloth he had mistaken for blankets the day before. Patches was spinning a spider’s web around him. Hari Harel turned his head and looked at the child on the bench next to him. Where he had assumed he would find another living breathing human, he saw only skeletal remains. Limp pieces of flesh dangled from bones. Everything was held together in a mockery of what it used to be. 

Hari Harel tried to stand up but the web held tight, sticking to the floor and the bench. 

“Don’t struggle so, dear friend.” Patches said, his face finally matching his body. “It’ll all be over soon.” 

Hari Harel didn’t want it to be over at all, at least not like this. If he was going to die he wanted to have a last meal. 

Patches hadn’t had the chance to bind Hari Harel’s arms. If our hero’s stomach had growled any later, he might have gotten to them and all hope would be lost. But fortunately the spider had not counted on Hari Harel’s enormous appetite. He hadn’t had the forethought to remove our hero’s pack. Hari Harel had his meat cleaver out before Patches’ silk had reached his hips. As the spider came around him once more the cleaver shot out and severed one of the spider’s many limbs. 

“Dear friend you wound me!” Patches cried. His head was not the head of a spider, but was still pale and bald, the face of an old man. His eyes however, now that Hari Harel could see them closely were an obsidian black that shone with the uncaring malice of a beast. His mouth spoke nothing but manipulation. The teeth inside were pointed like a beasts and he hissed before lunging at Hari Harel’s neck, intent on biting our hero’s throat. 

Neither had thought to account for the weight, for Patches was so used to his victims being fully secured to the seat, he hadn’t given it a second thought. Instead of a smooth landing they both went tumbling down, and hit the ground hard. The movement was enough to loosen the wrappings that encased Hari Harel’s legs. While the enemy’s head spun he hacked through the spider’s silk with his cleaver. 

Hari Harel didn’t wait around to find out what the spider’s next move might be. He ran from the school house relieved to be back in the wastes once more. He never looked back, just ran and ran until his legs gave out. By some miracle of Kos, it had been just far enough. Hari Harel saw the genuine lights of a genuine town, and knew that he would be safe that night. 

He never forgot Patches the spider, and his horrible tricks, for that was the first of the 101 lessons Hari Harel learned. They are lessons that all hunters should take to heart. Many times on the hunt you’ll come across a suspicious scenario, and it is best to do unlike Hari Harel did his first time. He let his guard down and nearly died, so that now all hunters know not to let it slip. We must never be tricked, we must never be fooled and we must always be hungry to devour the beasts that seek to disturb our peace.” 

The crowd gave Callie a series of enthusiastic cheers. A few petitioned for yet more stories but she waved them off. She pushed through the denizens and made her way over to us. Izaius hopped off the railing and I stood up. 

“Bravo, Good Sister Calliban. Bravo!” Izaius said giving her an overdramatic round of applause. He stressed the roundness of it by moving his arms around in a circular fashion while he clapped so that it truly was rounded applause. 

“Oh cut it out.” She huffed, “I’ve had enough of being clapped at. What brings you to my neck of the woods today?” 

“It was actually because of me.” I said, “Izaius took me out because I hadn’t seen much of Yhar’Gul. The book shop intrigued me, but then again so did your story.” 

“Oh well you’ve really got to check it out.” Callie said grabbing my arm and not letting me have the slightest choice whether I did or did not decide to inspect the shop. “It’s the best one in the city. I know the owner so I can totally get him to ship in whatever you need if there’s something specific you’re after.” 

I was pulled through the door and into the shops. The books were stacked impossibly high on more shelves then I’d ever seen. Callie listed the various categories they were sorted into then left me on my own to comb through them. I wandered the shelves at first, just running my fingers along the spines of things and taking in the whole shop. I had to walk around patrons sprawled on the floor between the book shelves, surrounded by piles of things half-read. As soon as Calliban’s story had ended they went right back to where they’d left off. 

Izaius let me stay as long as I liked. When I did finally leave, with promises I could come back again soon he carried my books for me. We bought mince pies from a café across the street. I saw a lot of Izaius’ favorite places. Most were fountains or benches in scenic areas where you could watch the denizens go by. There were other shops and other cafes, with tea and coffee, roast duck and herb-coated potatoes, but it was the bookstore I remembered most. 

We got back to Doctor Lee’s office just before nightfall. Izaius helped me unwrap the books and parchment and fresh quills we’d purchased. Everything was practical despite his love for needles adornments like the carnation. He didn’t bully me into purchasing things I didn’t want, though he had suggested several sets of colored illuminators ink or peacock feather quills. Standard black always suited me just fine, and a peacock feather would just poke me in the face if I tried to write with it. 

I shooed him out as fast as I could. I wasn’t sure how Doctor Lee would react if she knew I had spent the entire day away from my work. I burnt the brown paper bags, the twine and ribbon wrappings and the cards with the stores’ names on them. Anything that would show I’d acquired my new materials from the outside was destroyed, except the carnation. Izaius had taken it out of his button hole and left it sitting on top of Runesmith Caryll’s notebook. The white flower stood out against the dark leather cover, and though I intended to condemn its petals to the flames, I couldn’t bear to. I shifted it off the book but left it in my peripheral vision. 

It was reassuring to have something beautiful to look at while I worked on something so depraved. Runesmith Caryll’s notes didn’t make any more sense after being outside all day, but I stayed at them all the same. I felt like Hari Harel from Callie’s most recent story. Doctor Lee was surely a spider and there were children below me waiting to be fed to a monster. It was too bad my problems couldn’t be solved by an overzealous appetite and a few swings from a cleaver. 

If Doctor Lee knew that I had been gone she made no mention of it. I was needlessly on edge for the better part of a week fearing some kind of retribution would be coming my way. I didn’t get so much as a sideways glance. My sleepless work continued. The carnation I left within eyesight began to wilt. 

I thought I could hear them sometimes, the children below. Though they hadn’t spoken at all before every so often my ears would ring with strange voices pleading for help. They were far away, and echoed around the room. They never seemed to come from the same place twice, nor speak with the same tones. Every time it was different and newly unsettling. No matter how many times I looked over my shoulder, checking to see who was there the results didn’t change. The room was ever empty, devoid of any existence save my own. 

More time went by, and I was forced to throw the flower away lest the sickly perfume of dying petals cloud my mind. I had translated every cipher and code that was within modern language, everything Caryll had written in common tongues. The problem was it hardly accounted for anything. It didn’t constitute even a fourth of her journal, and I was getting nowhere with the mysterious runes. I saw them in my dreams, flashing between black ink on yellowed parchment and white scars carved into dark stone. I copied them down in my own hand, hoping it might bring about a change in perspective. It didn’t, but I kept the parchment folded up in my pocket anyway. 

“The Godschild is getting hungry again.” Doctor Lee told me on one of her infrequent visits. 

“Oh.” I said, trying to ignore her and focus on my work. The problem was trying to always look busy, I hadn’t had anything to do since decoding Caryll’s riddles. I was reorganizing my notes but even with copious shuffling and sorting it was obvious I wasn’t very busy. 

“I thought you might enjoy seeing it again. I know I never tire of the infant Great One.” She said. 

I doubted the truth of her words. If she was content with the giant slug she wouldn’t be letting it gorge itself with children to try and get it to transform. Doctor Lee would lose fascination with the creature’s current state. 

“Indeed.” I replied. 

“Excellent, I’ll be sure to fetch you for it.” She said clapping her hands together with glee. 

“Don’t let me trouble you.” I said, “It might get distressed with so many people around.” 

“Could that be a problem?” Doctor Lee asked. 

“I don’t suppose you would relish the thought of having a thousand onlookers when you were going to transcend from one astral form to another, would you Doctor?” 

She put her hand to her chin and considered my proposition for a moment. It was something I had pulled off the top of my head, a common enough problem with animals. Some of them were shy about things in large groups, or at least so I’d read. There weren’t many herds of things to study in Yharnam, unless you count cockroaches and Greatwolves, which I didn’t. 

“You may have a point. I was so focused on supplying the correct nutrients I did not consider their application.” She said, “I will take what you have said into account and alter my feeding method. I am afraid I must withdraw my invitation for you to visit the Godschild.” 

“I understand.” I said, “If that doesn’t bring on the transformation I will have other opportunities to see it.” 

She nodded and let me return to my work. I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to have found a way out of having to go back to the pit. I wouldn’t be able to dodge it forever but I was happy to put it out of my mind for now. In the days that followed it wouldn’t be so easy. I heard the voices with increasing frequency and could not be shaken away. 

It got to the point where I was relieved when Minimus intruded upon my workspace. Like Izaius he seemed to be able to get wherever he wanted with ease, despite locks and forebodings. The doors he wanted to go through were simply never closed. 

“So this is where they’ve stuck you, huh?” Minimus asked. He swept aside a few jars of incense brewing ingredients to make space for himself, then hopped onto the counter and took a seat. I didn’t justify him with a reply, so he tried again. “Like it down here, everything stinking of disinfectant?” 

“What do you want?” I asked, eager to end this interaction as quickly as possible. 

He sighed, “Can I not simply visit a friend?” 

“Sure.” I returned, “Only we’re not friends.” 

“You wound me.” Minimus said with a dramatic sigh, “Here I was thinking I could be of some assistance to you. I heard your studies weren’t going very well and after spending so many nights distressed over the plight of my unfortunate companion I discovered something that would certainly shed some light on the situation. Only now I’m not so sure I ought to share it, considering the way I was just spoken too.” 

My hands begged to be allowed to curl into fists and slam into Minimus’ nose. I would not let them. Instead I sighed and turned to face him. “I apologize for my outburst, most valued companion.” My delivery was flat line, a sarcasm Eros would’ve caught onto immediately, but was not known to the church novice before me. 

“That’s more of the welcome I was hoping for.” Minimus said. He swung his legs, ramming the back of his boots into the desk drawers below him on the backswing. The repetitive banging drove me nuts but I refrained from calling him out on it. It was a sad day indeed when my hopes of translating a text had to be placed in Minimus’ hands, but it was the only lead I’d had in days. As pathetic as it felt I had to follow up on it. 

Unfortunately, a follow up with Minimus would require a bit of dancing. He liked to be courted and flattered into things. I hadn’t slept properly in a week, and doubted I had the stamina to maintain the illusion very long. Still, I had to make the effort. 

“I am very interested to see what you’ve found.” I said, “I guess my mind has been rather cloudy lately. It happens sometimes, though I’m sure you’ve never had the issue.” 

“Quite right.” Minimus smiled, “A hunter’s mind should always stay sharp. You never were much of one for hunting so I suppose it must be forgiven. Not everyone can be a hero.” 

“Indeed.” I said through gritted teeth. 

“But I am of course happy to help those more suited to mundane tasks like you.” He returned. 

“And I am just, so grateful for your assistance.” I replied. 

He hopped off the counter and motioned for me to follow. I hated that, the waving of his hand, like he was calling a dog. A lead was a lead, so I followed him through the workroom door. The difference between traversing the halls with Izaius and going through them with Minimus was immediately apparent. While Izaius had woven through crowds, waved at friends and stopped to chat with the occasional acquaintance he had still waited for others to pass or scampered between gaps when he saw an opening. That was the way I’d become accustomed to traveling. 

With Minimus it was more like coming into the city in the High Octave’s coach. People parted ways for us. They all stepped aside or sped up to make our journey a faster one. I hadn’t thought it possible for Minimus to gain any authority in such a short time but it seems he had made an impact rather quickly. We left the scholar building and traversed several staircases and bridges. We were moving so fast I was starting to sweat. With all the hunting practice Minimus had I was sure he barely felt a thing. We started up a spiral staircase that seemed endless. Every time I was sure the curve above me was the last one, there would be another above that. 

“Do you remember Odette, from dinner that one night?” Minimus asked me as we climbed higher. 

I nodded. I didn’t want to waste any energy talking. It all went into maintaining appearances. Izaius was right I did need to get out of the workroom more. I was starting to get out of practice. 

“Lovely little thing.” He assessed. “I decided to court her, and as you might imagine she was no match for me.” 

This I did take the time to scoff at. I could never understand why anyone would willingly spend their time with Minimus. Odette was an educated member of the choir; how could she fail to see the church novice for what he was? 

“Something funny?” Minimus asked. 

“Nothing.” I panted. “Please continue.” 

He waited for a few seconds before he did speak again. I used them to catch my breath. 

“I decided to court her.” He repeated, “And I’ve learned a lot from her. She has studied the Eldritch gods and arcane sorcery, which I must admit isn’t the most fascinating pursuit in the world. Still it’s enough to hold interest, especially with the military applications for arcane magic. Odette helped create bolt paper to imbibe weapons with divine electricity.” 

That sounded really fascinating actually. The promise of Eldritch wisdom propelled me forward. Caryll’s language could easily have roots in the God’s tongue. Minimus launched into a detailed account of their courtship for the next several circuits of stairs. I learned things about the both of them that I’d never wanted to know. I tried to tune him out but Minimus was a great one for looking over shoulders and checking to make sure you heard what he’d said. By the time the staircase ended I felt like I needed to take a shower and wash away everything I’d just been informed of. 

We stopped outside of a stone archway. The staircase ended, and we could go no higher. There was a blue silk curtain draped over the entrance, closing it off in place of a door. A faded pattern of stars was sewn onto the shimmering cloth with silver thread. Old as it was the drapery was still a thing of beauty. To one side of the arch was a small window. A simple glance outside let me know that I was much further from the ground then was comfortable. 

“Here we are.” Minimus said, as though I couldn’t have come to that conclusion myself. 

He lifted the curtains aside and stepped through. There was not a knock ventured nor an announcement of self, but then again if Minimus had done half the things he’d said he’d done with Odette formality hardly seemed customary. I forced myself to cough before stepping inside, just something so she wouldn’t be caught completely off guard. I followed the church novice down a hallway dripping with candles and crystals. Strings of pointed rock with holes drilled through them were hung from one side of the ceiling to the other creating a spider’s web of amber and quartz above us. Velvet carpets with damask patterns heat-stamped onto them were scattered over the floor. They were lain across each other in such quantities that it felt like walking across moss instead of carpeted brick. My boots sunk slightly with each step and I tripped over folds of cloth every so often. 

The hall ended in a circular room. More of the small slotted windows allowed thin knife blades of light to pierce the room. It was decorated just as opulently as its entrance way. The walls were covered with star maps and a myriad of dead butterflies. Each of those was set into a shadow box, pinned to acid-free paper and displayed to its best advantage. More of the silk drapes hung from the ceiling, those these were in much better condition. They were joined by lanterns of various sizes and colors along with more crystal strings. A sizable bookshelf dominated the far wall piled high with thick volumes and stacks of paper. 

What drew my attention most of all was the bed, and not for any of the reasons it drew Minimus’ eyes. Odette’s headboard was made of elaborately carved wood. Dominating the center was a five pointed star with an eye in its center. The same symbol was one of the many I’d been unable to translate from Caryll’s notebook. Hope fluttered in my chest, flapping with a nervous energy the butterflies on the wall might have known at one time in their life before meeting their unfortunate end. 

Odette mistook my focus on her headboard for acknowledgement of her presence. She was sitting on her bed. The familiarly conservative robes of the choir pooled around her, skirt and sleeves too long for the person they contained. I could sympathize. Nothing ever fit me correctly either. 

“Oh, and you brought Brother Yilmarie, what a nice surprise!” Odette exclaimed, a smile spreading across her face. “I was hoping Minimus would bring you to see me.” 

She patted a corner of her bed, entreating me to sit down. It occurred to me that this was the first time I’d sat on a girl’s bed. It didn’t feel any different from my own. I thought I could feel Minimus shoot me an angry glare, but I didn’t check. He didn’t need to be afraid, I had no desire to steal Odette away from him. I wasn’t even certain I wanted to have a conversation with her, owing to the company she kept. I took a mental deep breath, trying to clear my disdain for the church novice and focus on the task at hand. 

“I was glad to be invited.” I said, “Thank you for having me.” 

“Of course.” She said, “Minimus told me that Doctor Lee’s got you looking at some pretty old texts. I’d be eager to take a look at them myself.” 

“I…didn’t bring it with me.” I said, struck with the sudden realization of how astoundingly stupid a mistake I’d made. I had to recover quickly, “But I’d be glad to show you it down in my workroom.” 

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Odette sighed, “Joan doesn’t like me coming around her workspace. She doesn’t approve of my studies ever since she caught me dissecting an infant Great One. It was already dead when I’d come across it but she didn’t believe me. Fortunately, the High Octave believes a variety of approaches are necessary to understanding the gods, and allowed me to continue on here. I’ve never been back to the doctor’s quarters since.” 

“I could see Doctor Lee being a little…difficult to get along with.” I said downplaying the odious doctor as much as possible. “But she has trusted this task to me, and I intend to see it through.” 

“I told you he was quite the dedicated scholar.” Minimus said. 

The fact that he’d paid me so much as a single compliment was very strange. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something wasn’t right here, it couldn’t be. On instinct my hands went to my pockets, checking to ensure I had something to defend myself with. Rather than a weapon they brushed against my copy of the runes text. 

“Oh, um actually I do have something you could take a look at.” I said taking the folded parchment out for her to see. 

She leaned forward and took the paper from my hands. It was a stack three or four sheets deep, only so much as to have each and every symbol from the text at least once. She unfolded them and laid them out one next to the other across her sheets. She complimented my handwriting then looked at each of the sheets carefully. She picked them up one at a time and carefully studied my writing. 

“Some of this is advanced even for me.” She muttered, “I can’t believe that Joan gave this to you.” 

“I’ve done the best I can but I’m afraid I haven’t been able to make heads nor tails of it.” I confessed. 

“It was ludicrous to think you could.” Odette reassured me, “She doesn’t know what she’s dealing with. Luckily for you I do.” 

Odette slid off the bed. She pulled a pile of sheets along with her, half-stumbling over them in her haste to reach the bookshelf. She flung open drawers and ran her finger across leather bindings searching for something specific. While she searched I looked over at Minimus. I don’t know what I expected from him, something deviant no doubt. He surprised me by paying attention to everything Odette said. He was sitting on a chair, following her actions with his eyes. Minimus wasn’t so much as fiddling with his bootlaces. He’d fidgeted through every sermon we’d ever been too, yet here he was completely enraptured. 

She finally found what she’d been seeking. It was a leather-bound book thicker than Caryll’s. She brought it over to the bed and handed it to me. I took it, a little astounded by the weight of the thing. 

I felt like I’d need a rock to hold down the side I wasn’t reading lest all the pages flip on themselves constantly. 

“This is a book of dead languages.” Odette explained. “To be more specific it’s my book of dead languages. I copied every one that I’d ever found a translation of into here. I’m not certain but it might be the most complex lexicon to currently exist.” 

I opened the cover and was greeted by a book plate. The thin sheet of embossed copper clearly stated that the book was part of the library of Professor Odette Southill. It struck me once more that despite her young appearance she was in fact a well-read scholar. She didn’t demonstrate any of the maturity of the other professors I’d seen. They yelled at their students and berated sub-par work. Odette seemed to approach everything with boundless curiosity and a desire to grow her collection. She was not content to rest on laurels and did not harbor any feelings of superiority to her fellow Choir members. 

“That’s quite impressive Professor Southill.” I said. 

She waved me off, “It’s really for nothing beyond convenience. Once we identify the language we can find more extensive translation books. This is just good for getting the general idea, finding our heading if you will.” 

I nodded. 

“Now of course this one I recognize immediately.” She said pointing to the star rune. “It appears in several different scripts. I am personally fond of it because it’s a symbol for knowledge, seeing that which is hidden, that sort of thing.” 

“Ah.” I said. 

My fingers itched for parchment to mark that down on. I didn’t want to forget anything important. If I had Caryll’s notebook I could dare to scribble in the margins but here I was caught empty handed without quill ink or paper. I glanced around the room wondering if there was anything I might be able to sneak. All of Odette’s paper appeared to have already been used. Her quills were the more decorative sort. She seemed to take care in selecting their plumage, but not a second thought to where she left them. There were quills piled on top of rickety sheaves of papers, quills lying on the windowsill and crowded into half-empty wine goblets. 

Minimus fetched one out of the goblet and shook excess pinot noir off the tip. He got up from his chair and handed it to me, along with an inkwell, a roll of parchment and a sturdy book to lean on. 

“Thank you.” I said. 

Minimus grinned in lieu of saying “you’re welcome.” It hit me that he was showing me off in this moment. He had brought me here for selfish reasons, of course. I had known that all along but now they snapped into focus. He wanted to brag to Odette that he had wizened friends. I didn’t call him out on it. If this charade led to a breakthrough I was more than willing to play along. I brushed a few bits of dusts and crumbs of cheese off the parchment and dipped my borrowed quill into the ink. Upon writing I discovered that the ink was navy blue in hue, as opposed to the black I’d originally expected. It made no difference. The parchment had a nice bit of tooth to it that told me it was far more expensive than the stock I had purchased when out with Izaius. 

I looked at Odette’s headboard and did a quick drawing of the star. I wrote down its meaning and waited for the Professor to speak again. There was a lot of flipping pages and checking. Odette’s eyes were constantly looking back and forth between her book and my papers. 

“This one…” Odette said, turning my paper around so that I could see the symbol. It was one I thought looked like a tally mark, but slanted slightly and with nine lines through it instead of the usual four. “It’s a symbol for a location.” 

She turned the book around to show me. One page was covered in runes I couldn’t read, but the opposite page was a map. The territories on it were marked with flags. One of them bore the same rune as Caryll’s notes. The symbol was drawn in red ink, resting on a black flag. The way Odette had drawn it made the rune seem as though it had been carved into skin. I blinked a few times, clearing my vision to reassure myself that it was just paper and clever shading, there was nothing to fear from a drawing. 

“Why would one be a normal symbol and one mark a place?” I asked. “I’ve seen that symbol quite a few times in her notes, it would make more sense if it were a letter and not a place.” 

“No.” Odette said calmly. “It makes sense once you know where it refers too. This is the marker of Moonside Lake, the place where Rom the Vacuous was said to have been born. This was hallowed ground, a place that underwent rigorous studies from the Byrgenwerth scholars, until the path too it was lost to them.” 

“Do you think it could be found again?” Minimus asked. “Maybe that journal is some kind of guide.” 

“It’s possible.” Odette said, “But I don’t think it’s likely. Runesmith Caryll likely just studied the area and made mention of what she found there. Most scholars list the location of their observational studies repeatedly.” 

“She’s right.” I agreed, having read much material of a similar nature. “Caryll likely assumed whoever would be reading this notebook would have access to the lake.” 

Minimus didn’t seem convinced but Odette had already decided to move on. She went back to her book. I drew the lake’s symbol from memory, having seen it enough times. I tried to remember if I’d ever hear about Moonside Lake before, but nothing came to mind. If there were stories about it Callie was sure to know them, and if not I would venture to the book store again. The geography section had never been one that drew me before, but it could hold some key to understanding what the Runesmith left behind. 

Little by little Odette found meanings for the runes. Like washing away layers of dirt on a window things became clearer and clearer. By the time the sun started to sink she had managed to find quite a few of the runes. I knew I had to be getting back to my own quarters. There was no way I was spending the night with Minimus and the Professor. 

She assured me that I could return whenever I liked and invited me to attend her lecture tomorrow. I gathered my notes and descended the tower. Without Minimus to act as guide I was unsure of the way back. The streets of Yhar’Gul were distorted by shadows, each building casting it’s eerie reverse across the cobblestones. I hated how cities could look completely different at night. For a second I hesitated at the tower’s door wondering if I should ask for an escort. That escort was sure to be Minimus and despite his polite guise he’d never let me live down a thing like this. 

There was the potential for being attacked by either a beast or a thief if I went looking for the lecture building on my own. On the other hand, if I went back upstairs it was certain I would face ridicule. When faced with possible death or modest embarrassment, I chose the uncertain. With limited confidence in my direction I set out, hoping to sight something familiar. 

Back in Yharnam the nighttime streets buzzed with nervous activity. There was nothing here, silence, thick like syrup settled over the city. Although I had every intention of hurrying back to the workroom my steps were slow. I kept close to the wall, letting one hand trail across the bricks. Every few feet there were candles, and the night had yet to reach its’ darkest point. This did little to calm my heart, which beat faster and faster with every step. I kept looking back over my shoulder, watching as little by little the tower I’d come from was consumed by shadows. 

As soon as it was gone the voices started. They were the same as the voices that haunted me when I was at work. Out in the open air they echoed, bouncing off the walls and clattering in the gutters. I was finally able to increase my walking pace, but the over-the-shoulder checks became more frequent. I let my hand drop from the wall, using both of them to hold up the hem of my choir robes. I broke into a modest jog, searching for stairs. I knew we had used several of the bridges to get to Odette’s quarters. An increased view of the city would provide better opportunities for me to get my bearings. 

I scanned the walls looking for breaks and entranceways, something to indicate a changing of direction. The flickering candlelight didn’t expose much, but I finally saw a turn off. I took it without thought, and barely looking ahead of myself. As I turned to look over my shoulder once more, I collided with someone else. 

“Bally rude thing to just come ‘round the corner barrelin’ into a chap!” 

“Beg your pardon.” I replied. 

We took a second and caught each other’s’ eyes. I let out a sigh of relief. It was Garrick, friend of Izaius and me by extension. I got on my feet first and offered him a hand. He took it, and hopped up so suddenly his momentum nearly flung me back down. I stumbled but caught myself. 

“You’re Izaius’ friend.” He said. 

I wasn’t sure if that was intended as more statement or question but I nodded my affirmation all the same. I dusted off my robes as Garrick settled back against the wall. The handle of his saw spear lay against the wall, ready in a moment should any threats arise. His easygoing manner made that seem unlikely. 

“And just what is a fine young chap like you doin’ colliding into superior officers in the middle of the blinkin’ night?” 

I was sure that this one was a question. “I was trying to find my way back to the lecture building, but I must’ve gotten a bit turned around. I was trying to find some stairs so I could get the lay of the land and try and find my way back.” 

“Capital idea.” Garrick said, “In fact when I was out on the hunt I used the very same tactic to avoid capture by a group of-“ 

“I’m very sorry, but I really really need to be getting back.” I interrupted. 

“Say no more, laddie. I’ll lead the bloody charge. Follow me now, quick’s the word and sharp’s the action.” 

Garrick didn’t give me the chance to protest. He threw an arm around my shoulders, at the same time sweeping up his spear’s handle. As he lead me away from the main street, he continued to tell his story. I nearly lost a few of my curls to his blade, the Choir Hunter had the habit of waving his arms and thrusting his weapon to accentuate his point. He was of course the hero of every story he told, and I rapidly lost the desire to pay attention to the endless barrage of war tales. It seemed I wouldn’t be spared the indignity of an escort. At least it wasn’t Minimus. 

We ascended a nearby staircase and began to cross one of the bridges. I looked below me and saw a few squadrons of Choir hunters heading out for their nightly duties. They looked like handkerchiefs caught in the wind, so white against the city’s black. It seemed hunters tied to the church always dressed in the worst colors to hunt in. If we wore red there would be far less time spent on the laundry. 

“Not far now.” Garrick said after he ended his third story. 

“Thank you.” I said. 

“Think nothing of it.” He said. “I won’t so much as mention it. Not one bally word.” 

I sighed. I didn’t think anything would go unmentioned once Garrick knew about it. I was sure to appear as the distressed damsel in his next heroic hyperbole. As time wore on I wasn’t entirely convinced the Choir Hunter knew where he was going. He doubled back on his own path several times, always claiming to have heard some noise that merited investigation when we hit a dead end and had to turn around. The moon was at its apex when we came to the door of the lecture building. 

I had adjusted to being awake during daytime hours, completely unnatural but it seemed the city hadn’t. I said my goodbyes to Garrick and still had to weave through the onslaught of students that never abated. Ever later though it grew the lectures and lessons continued. There was never a time where the building truly stopped teaming with activity. I dodged fleeing students and flying papers, navigating back to Doctor Lee’s practice. I arrived to find the light on and the door locked. 

I began to scan the room for something I could use to pick the lock. There had to be a fallen pen nib or loose hair pin on the floor somewhere. Just as I was stooping to inspect the ground I heard something coming from Doctor Lee’s office. I pressed myself against the wall, twisting my head around and trying to see through the frosted glass window. If only everyone in the Choir didn’t wear robes and masks I might have been able to tell who was there, but I couldn’t. I bent down and peered through the keyhole hoping for a clearer view. 

Nothing but shadows. 

I had to resort to pressing my ear to the door and hoping that whatever the people said would be enough to fill me in. 

“Is your supply really running that low?” the first voice said. I was fairly certain this one belonged to Doctor Lee. 

“Our ships are trying to get beyond the black sea to bring back the blood you’re after but none have been successful so far. The things we sacrifice to the sea god do not satisfy. She takes more from us every day! My brother and sister have gone out their themselves to try and ensure a transaction but you’ve no appreciation for the things their up against!” The second voice shouted. This was one I didn’t recognize. It was brimming with tempered anger. 

“I don’t understand why there have been so many delays. You can sail your little boats to any other place and back in a matter of weeks, why has this taken so long?” Doctor Lee asked. 

I was sure it was her this time. There was a pause before the second voice spoke again. There was also a metallic rattling- a fist on a tray of surgical tools. “It’s not some Sunday outing, there are beasts at sea more fearsome then anything you frock-wearing fools could ever dream of! People die!” 

“Cargo dies.” Doctor Lee corrected, “Cargo the Choir has paid and paid and paid for. We need a return on investment, Lord Prestwick and we need it now.” 

The fist came down on the tray again. This time it was a harder impact. I heard one of the tools clatter on the floor, propelled by the force of the violent impact. Things were not going well for this guy. “That Cargo is now inclusive of Prestwick blood. Whether or not they return this is the last voyage we will make across the black salt sea.” 

“How can the youngest member of the Prestwick line make such bold claims?” Doctor Lee asked. 

“I am not the youngest!” Lord Prestwick snarled back. “That half-breed bastard’s younger than I am.” 

Doctor Lee chuckled, “He was disowned. He doesn’t count. If you were serious about the claims you’re making, there’s no way your father would’ve set his youngest son to make dealings with me. Keep your temper and deliver my cargo. I dare not remind you what happens should you default.” 

The tray was pushed to the floor and tools bounced everywhere. Heavy footsteps reverberated through the tiles as Lord Prestwick stormed for the door. He was coming at me full force. I wouldn’t be able to dash behind any of the cabinets or into any of the side doors in time to avoid his gaze. For a second I was stuck there, heart-pounding unsure which course of action to take. Frozen, I couldn’t even get my eyes to look around and find a solution. 

Then the door was flung open. It smacked into my nose with a sharp crack. It broke me out of my paralysis. My hands flew to my nose to try and stem the flow of blood which was quickly turning the sleeves of my robes another color. Lord Prestwick did not stop; he did not apologize. His lip just curled up in disgust as he continued storming through the college. Everyone tried to make way for him, bowing and stepping aside but the ones who were not quick enough were barreled into. His boots collided with feet, ribs, fingers, anything unfortunate enough to cross his path for so much as a second. 

My only salvation was the door which he had left wide open. Still pressing my sleeve to my nose I scurried inside. Doctor Lee was standing over Peter. He was picking up the scattered surgical equipment. I hadn’t seen him or heard him from outside the door. It was possible he’d been on his knees the whole time, cleaning up from some of the doctor’s other messes. 

“I thought you were in the workroom.” She said. 

“No ma’am. I went out.” I said. She nodded her understanding. Before she asked follow up questions, I continued. “How did things go with the…children, ma’am?” 

“Much the same as always.” She sighed. 

“Shame.” I said. My eyes darted for the work room door. For salvation, privacy, a chance to sort out what I had just witnessed. I started to slink towards the room, eyes still locked with Lee’s. “Well, I’ve got work to make up for.” 

She nodded. 

Neither of them made a comment on my bleeding nose. Despite being in a doctor’s office I was left to bleed on the floor. A few murky drops managed to soak their way through my sleeves and pool on the floor. It was a convenient excuse to duck away without further explanation. There was a small pang of guilt for leaving behind a mess. I knew that Peter would have to take responsibility for cleaning it up. I would make sure to thank him for it when the opportunity arose. Both of their eyes fixed on me, watching my every move as I slunk away. 

I didn’t breathe again until I closed the door behind me. Now there was a barrier between me and the doctor. I tried to puzzle out where I had heard the name Prestwick before. It had to mean something. While I was working I rolled up a small piece of gauze and wedged it in my nostril to stem the flow of blood. I used the hem of my robe to wipe up whatever had dripped onto my floor, I could care less about keeping it pristine. I only had to replace the rolled up gauze once before my nose finally stopped gushing. There were so many loose chains I was trying to thread together; I didn’t know where to begin. I fished around in my pocket for my notes, the few symbols Odette had managed to translate. I wanted to see if I could make sense of anything with them. If I could translate just one sentence it could be the start of something monumental. 

I noticed the Moonside Lake symbol peppered across entire pages. I began to siphon these pages out, searching for those that also contained the star symbol. I began to mark the pages with both, further narrowing them by translated symbol after translated symbol. In the end there was only one page with every symbol Odette had recognized on it. The page was towards the back of the book, just a few pages from the end. Her handwriting fluttered slightly on it, a bit messier than usual. I had to squint to make sure there were nine slashes in the Moonside Lake rune, constantly double checking between my notes and the book. After several glances back and forth, ensuring that my translation was as correct as I could manage I stared in wonder at the single sentence I had managed to pull out of obscurity after weeks of waiting. 

“I trust no one with the knowledge of Moonside Lake.” 

So the place had been a secret one. The few follow-up pages that came after this one made me wonder if Minimus was right. Perhaps there was a way for this book to guide me to the forgotten place that so gripped Byrgenwerth’s greatest minds. How the single most annoying church novice had been able to theorize anything with the remote potential to be correct about this notebook infuriated me. I had needed his help, his in with Odette. 

Why hadn’t Izaius taken me for a visit? That nagged at me. I fiddled with a pen, and stared at the spot that used to hold his carnation. My mind wouldn’t settle down and let me enjoy the first real progress I’d made in ages. It bothered me the way a paper cut does, not particularly hurtful just constant. I would have to ask him about it, before it drove me insane. 

Prestwick was also driving me insane. I couldn’t recall who had said it but I was sure it was important and somehow relevant to the work I was assigned. That would be another thing to field past Izaius come morning. I spent the remainder of my night combing through the notebook again marking every page with every one of the symbols I knew. I tried to puzzle through more translations but I just got fragments, my best guesses. Nothing was solid enough to take a conclusion from. 

I stayed in the work room for as long as my eyes kept themselves open. Even after they began to droop I tried to keep them from closing. My thoughts were racing and I didn’t relish the thought of lying in bed trying to sort through things alone in the dark. Sorting through things alone in the light was plenty fine with me, but I couldn’t stave off sleep forever. 

I checked outside the door before I ventured beyond its threshold. The tiled floor glistened, freshly cleaned and sterilized at Peter’s expense. Every tool that Lord Prestwick had scattered on the floor was put back in its proper place, shined and sterilized. I quickly walked through the room, cringing at the clicking of my boots on the floor. They seemed far too loud for so late an hour. 

Sleep came to me easier than I thought it would. It didn’t last as long as I would’ve hoped, and the morning brought with it fresh problems. I had never needed to seek Izaius out before, he had always taken it upon himself to find me. 

“Thanks for mopping up after me.” I said to Peter as I passed him on my way out the door. 

“You’re welcome.” He said, looking up from the knife he was cleaning to give me a genuine smile. 

I cleared my throat, preparing to ask him for a favor. I really kind of hated to do it, since Doctor Lee already asked so much of him. “Don’t suppose you’d know where I can find Izaius do you?” 

Peter held the blade closer to his eyes, rubbing his cloth against one part in particular. I looked on as he tended to the task. Just as I was about to give a fake cough and remind him of my presence he set the knife down on a table with several others. Peter stood and dusted off his apron. 

“Suppose I could use a stretch of the legs.” He said. He glanced towards the back office. The lights were off and the door was closed. Doctor Lee was nowhere to be found. “Suppose she wouldn’t mind. Shouldn’t be more than a minute.” 

“I don’t want to be any trouble.” I said, “I promise I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” 

“Oh I believe you.” Peter said. He gave me another smile and walked towards the door. I followed after him. His legs were twice as long as mine and I had to jog to keep up with him. His eyes darted to every doorway we passed. I expected he was checking for the Doctor. He stopped outside of a lecture room. “I’m fairly certain this is the one he has his morning classes in.” 

I peeked in through the doorway. The lecture room looked like a theater, ring after ring of seats surrounding the teacher’s podium. There were easily a hundred or so chairs and most of them were full. I gave Peter a bow and slid into the room. Fortunately for me, most of the class was gathered towards the front of the room leaving a few seats in the back vacant. I settled into one of these and scanned the crowd for Izaius. 

It was easy to find him, his red jacket stood out in so much white. None of the other Choir members wore one, and now that I’d noticed it I had questions about what it symbolized. Just another to add to the barrage. 

Whomever was teaching the class didn’t notice me come in. I spent the first few minutes focusing on Izaius trying to extrapolate impossible meaning from the mundane classroom actions he was performing. He took notes and raised his hand to answer questions although he was yet to be called upon. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it and I quickly grew bored of mere observation. I began to instead pay attention to the teacher. 

They were talking about the history of hunter’s weapons. Several of the students were called upon to assist the instructor by holding up various retired weapons. There were brutal things from the first hunting days like the Bloodletter, a spiked club which drained the users’ own life force to imbibe it with power. 

“Now weapons like these were very effective against beasts.” The instructor said, “The problem was how many hunters lost control. They would give too much of their own blood to the blade and madness would follow. Insane hunters became a bigger problem than the beasts they sought to stop. It was not an easy task to put one down, so we had to come up with different weapons.” 

At a nod from the instructor the student set down the Bloodletter. She seemed relieved to be rid of the thing. A different student came forth and held up two small curved blades, much like my own. 

“It was around this time that some of the Holy Blades encountered siderite.” The instructor turned around and wrote the word down on the chalkboard behind him. There was a furious fluttering of quills as the students scrambled to make the same notation. “Siderite was a material from the heavens, pulled from falling stars and extremely blessed having come from the kingdom of the gods. With so little at their disposal, members of the Hunter’s Workshop wanted to create as many weapons as possible. A sword would eat up too much of the precious metal so they opted for knives. Hunters had to learn to be clever and quick and fearless. With a blade you have to have either deadly aim or great speed. We adapted and madness stopped being such a problem.” 

There was a raised hand a few chairs away from me. I was surprised to see it belonged to Crane. The instructor nodded and Crane cleared his throat, “Is the Moonlight Sword made from siderite?” 

“Pardon me?” The instructor said. 

This garnered all of the classes’ attention. Everyone was looking at Crane. He glanced at his notes, turning up the corner of one page to glance at the page behind. Then he fixed his eyes on the teacher and repeated himself. “Is the Moonlight Sword made from siderite?” 

The instructor chuckled, “Young Master Crane I think your nose has been in your books a little too long. The Moonlight Sword is a story, a legend. It is like your friend Calliban’s tales of Hari Harel, something to pass the time and teach a lesson.” 

Crane was not deterred. “Hari Harel is fictional, yes. Every story of the Moonlight Sword involves Holy Blade Ludwig. We know he lived, couldn’t the sword also have been-“ 

He was cut off. “I’ll have no more of this now, young master. Stories of that sword possessed Ludwig, and after a long time on the hunt his mind was far from settled. He disappeared with a score of warriors across the Black Salt Sea searching for a relic that was never found.” 

“Then, Sir wouldn’t logic tell us that-“ 

“I said that was enough!” The instructor barked. His raised tone caused half the class to flinch, but Crane was not amongst those shying. 

“Tell us that the fabled blade lies somewhere across that same sea? Couldn’t that also explain the churches in Yharnam regularly sending novices on sea voyages with no specified destinations. Many in the church still believe that Ludwig is alive and if we could-“ 

“Enough!” he shouted once more. I saw the instructor’s eyes dart to the weapons on the table. I tensed fearing the worst. 

The instructor and Crane were both interrupted by Izaius. He stood up and walked calmly to the front of the room. He took the stairs up to the stage, drawing every eye in the room. 

“I think it would be best if we set this matter aside.” He said calmly. 

Both Crane and the Instructor bowed to him. Crane sat down. The lecture continued. The only thing that had changed was Izaius. His eyes met mine while he was on stage, and now there was the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. I listened to the rest of the lecture with mild interest wondering when the class would end and I would have my chance to speak with him. 

After progressing through every weapon right to the current experimental things being used by senior Powder Keg Hunters, class was dismissed. The instructor was the first to depart the room but was followed by a flurry of white robes. Crane slammed things into his bag and stalked off through one of the doors, head down and boots thumping. After a few moments Izaius and I were the only ones left in the room. 

“Attending lectures now are we, Good Brother Yilmarie?” He asked coming down from the stage and over to my desk. 

“I was looking for you actually.” I told him. 

His grin widened, pleasantly surprised. I wished I were only here for pleasantries. “You found me.” 

I nodded. “Yeah. I guess I did. Peter helped me.” 

“He’s a good man.” Izaius said. 

“Yeah.” I agreed. 

Izaius folded down the chair next to me and took a seat. He turned towards me, leaning his chin on his hand. “So why have you sought me out?” 

“I’ve got questions.” I said. 

He waved his hand for me to continue. I looked at my boots, then at the worn wooden desk. I turned towards the ceiling and to the chalkboard at the far wall. I looked everywhere except at his eyes, trying to form a proper response. I didn’t know what to ask first, which urgency to place my queries in. They all fought for dominance. Eventually one bubbled to the surface and made itself known. 

“Why do you have a red jacket?” I asked. 

The second it escaped me I wanted to throw my hands over my eyes and turn away. It was by far the last on the list of priorities. Izaius blinked a few times in rapid succession, clearing away his surprise. The corners of his mouth turned down for a second, before spiking up again and returning the points to his grin. 

“The red vest is only worn by those in mourning.” Izaius said. His grin wavered as he spoke, struggling to maintain itself. “I recently lost both my uncles and my father. They were out hunting together, helping to scout an area for some Executioners who were coming to exterminate a Vileblood. They thought there was only one of the creatures, but they ended up finding a nest of three of the things. They were unprepared. My father managed to run pretty far, but they’d injured his leg. He tried to hide but the beasts must have found him. He left an account of the events before his death in his hunter’s notebook, which was all that was left really.” 

“Oh…I didn’t know.” I said, “I’m really sorry about that. I lost someone close to me recently too.” 

Izaius put his hand over mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. His voice hitched into a higher pitch, flushed with fresh emotions. “It’s an unfortunate element of our profession.” 

I quickly posed my next question, if only to change the subject. “Have you ever heard of Moonside Lake?” 

Izaius shook his head, but there was something in his eyes that didn’t seem right. They had widened when I’d mentioned the strange place. “No. What’s that?” 

“I’m not entirely sure myself.” I said. “The other day, Minimus took me to see Professor Southill. She was able to translate a few of the runes I’d been laboring over. One of them was a sigil that represented that place. It seems like Runesmith Caryll spent a lot of time investigating that place.” 

“Doesn’t ring any bells.” Izaius said. 

“Why didn’t you take me to see her?” I asked. 

“She’s usually pretty busy.” Izaius said. 

“She invited me back any time. She invited me to her lecture today. The first day we met she said I could come to her if I needed anything.” I protested. 

He shrugged. “Pretty much every Professor here says that. I’ve never had much time one on one with her if I’m being honest.” 

I wasn’t entirely sure that he was. “She seemed to have plenty of time to spend with Minimus. The two of them are quite involved now.” 

He chuckled, “She is like that. That’s another reason I wouldn’t recommend a visit. She takes on many pretty young things, but disposes of them just as rapidly. I didn’t want you to get your heart broken. Good Brother Minimus is likely just her latest infatuation.” 

His description just didn’t suit the same Odette that I’d met. Her body of work was meticulous, the strands of crystals on her ceiling artfully crafted. This was not indicative of someone who easily flitted from one task to another. She seemed far more dedicated then that. 

“Okay.” I said, “But she still had a lot of useful information. You could’ve tipped me off to that.” 

“My mistake, Good Brother Yilmarie. I was thinking of your heart and not your head.” He said. Izaius went so far as to get up from his chair and give me a church hunter’s bow to underline the sincerity of his words. I wasn’t sure if I believed him yet, but I appreciated the gesture. Somehow his bowing made me think of the wilting carnation and I lost some of the animosity that I’d been harboring towards him. 

“It’s okay.” I said, even though I wasn’t convinced that was the truth. “I have one more question, if that’s alright?” 

“Besides that one I’m assuming.” He said with a chuckle. With that laugh his smile had returned to full capacity. 

I nodded, “Yeah, that one didn’t count. I was wondering if you knew the name Prestwick from anywhere.” 

“Indeed I do.” Izaius said, “The Prestwick Family is quite well known. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them. They’re one of those old families with old money. I think they’re some kind of merchants but they supply and transport a lot of things for the Choir.” 

“What kind of stuff?” I asked. 

He shrugged, “I don’t know. Mostly rare things, but I’m sure they do normal stuff like sugar and quick silver bullets and other general store kind of stuff.” 

“The High Octave said something about the Prestwick Company.” I said, suddenly remembering where I’d heard the name before. “She said they’d be supplying Doctor Lee’s work somehow.” 

“Seems logical.” He agreed. 

“In fact, Doctor Lee was talking to someone last night called Lord Prestwick. Whatever they were talking about, he wasn’t very happy. He stormed out the door so quick it smacked into me and gave me a bloody nose.” 

“Are you okay?” Izaius asked. 

I waved him off, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. It was just a nosebleed.” 

“It wasn’t broken or anything?” He asked. 

“No. Nothing like that.” I assured him. I turned my head side to side, “See no real damage done.” 

“That must’ve been Lord Titus Prestwick.” Izaius said, “He’s known for leaving a few injuries. You’ll probably see him from time to time and when you do it’s best to stay out of his way. He has quite the temper. I think that is why the Senior Lord Prestwick uses him as a glorified errand boy. He’s too headstrong to be trusted with other matters.” 

“Why would he be here?” I asked. 

“Beats me.” Izaius said, “What did you hear them talking about?” 

“There was something about a shipment not coming in. Titus was mad that they kept sending ships there, across the Black Salt Sea I mean, and not getting them back. Two of his siblings were onboard this one that was out, and he said this was the last voyage they’d be making there.” 

“And her response?” Izaius asked. 

“She was very business-like.” I said. “Only really interested in getting the cargo. It must be something living….because….” 

I trailed off while a ten-ton hammer of realization hit me. The Prestwick Company was supplying Doctor Lee. 

The Prestwick Company was supplying Doctor Lee with children. 

The cargo she’d been so callous and carefree about was alive. Worse than being apathetic to the plight of livestock she was uncaring to flinging human bodies in the sea. There were plenty of them downstairs, how could she need more? How many were being brought in right now, how many were stuck on ships? New questions raced in a mile a minute each one a fresh blow to the head. I felt nauseous and dizzy. 

“Are you okay?” Izaius asked. 

“Yeah.” I said standing up quickly. In my haste I rammed my knee into the chair in front of me. I winced in pain but continued to limp down the aisle. “I just need some air.” 

“I’ll come with you.” Izaius said starting after me. 

I shook my head, shuffling past the chairs even faster now. “No, no it’s fine.” I muttered. 

With shaking hands, I pushed open the doors to the lecture room and went out into the hall. It was as busy as ever. I stumbled my way to the crowds until I made it outside. The air was cold and refreshing. A wind was blowing directly in my face and I found it a little difficult to breathe. I leaned against the stairs railing and tried to catch my breath. Every bone in my body felt like it was vibrating. My legs went wobbly and I had to sit down. 

A few of the Choir Members passing by looked over at me. I was quick to raise a shaking hand and wave them off. They continued on their way and I continued taking in gulps of chilling air. A few minutes later Izaius sat down beside me. He didn’t say anything, and I felt a tick of annoyance that he’d followed me when I’d asked him not too. I let it go because now that he was here no one gave us a second glance. A pair of students didn’t stand out as much as a lone wolf. 

The wind tugged at our robes. My fingers got cold and then got numb. Kohso loved this weather. He would go up on the church roofs and let the wind blow his hair wild. It was one of the only times he’d allowed his appearance be anything below perfect church standards. I’d always liked when he looked windswept like that, there was more life to him when he allowed an imperfection or two too slip past. 

“Professor Southill’s lecture is going to start soon, if you still wanted to go.” Izaius said after we’d sat there awhile. 

I nodded. He stood up and offered me a hand. I took it and he helped me to my feet. I didn’t want to let go of it, but didn’t hold him back when he pulled his fingers away. The red vest was easy to follow through the crowded Choir halls. The room Odette was going to be teaching in looked just like the one that we’d been in before. There were different diagrams on the wall, but the chairs were all arranged the same. There was another stage, though she hadn’t taken it yet. The room didn’t have a lot of students in it yet. Izaius hovered waiting for me to decide where to sit. 

I wanted Odette to know that I’d taken her up on her offer, so I chose seats towards the front. Izaius took the seat next to mine. He wordlessly offered me parchment and quill, then helped me with the chair’s fold-out desk so I could take notes. I didn’t thank him with anything more than a nod. It seemed enough for him. The room slowly filled up and I settled into my seat waiting for her lecture to begin. 

Izaius kept glancing around the room. His pen tapped inkless on his paper. From what I had observed in the previous class he wasn’t one to fidget. More chairs filled. He scanned each face but none brought him any solace. 

“What are you looking for?” I asked 

“Crane.” Izaius replied. 

“He’s probably just late.” I said. 

Odette took the stage before Izaius could respond. Students made their final noises, cutting off conversations and gathering note paper. Within seconds the room was silent. Every eye in the room was on Odette, except mine which stayed fixed on the Choir novice. 

“Good Afternoon.” Odette said. 

“Oh you can’t start class yet!” Izaius protested, “Crane isn’t here yet.” 

“He stopped me in the hall, said he felt sick and that he wouldn’t be able to make it. I think he went to go see Doctor Lee.” She replied. 

“Doctor Lee?” I asked. 

“Oh Yilmarie, I’m so glad you could make it.” Odette replied. 

“Yes. I mean no. I mean sorry; I’ve got to go.” I said. I got up from my chair in a rush, knocking Izaius’ spare supplies onto the floor. The inkwell smashed to pieces. Black rivulets seeped into the cracks in the wooden floor. I looked back at it, knowing I should clean it up. I had nothing on me to make a start on stopping it. As I turned away from it and went storming towards the door I wondered if Peter would be made to clean that up too. 

“Where are you going?” Odette shouted. “Yilmarie come back, you can’t just leave my lecture room a mess!” 

“Sorry!” I yelled over my shoulder. 

A few students started forward to try and stop me. They must’ve been those like Kohso who were over loyal to their instructors. I heard Izaius calling for me, but once again I ignored him and went stumbling into the hallway for the second time that day. I felt like Titus from the night before, I pushed people out of the way and barreled straight into anyone who was unfortunate enough to be standing where I needed to pass. I shouted apologies back at them. Even when my chest was tight and my breath came in heavy strangled gulps I expended the effort. I wasn’t of noble birth and would not take on aristocratic airs out of, if nothing else spite. 

A hundred apologies later I was outside of Doctor Lee’s door. It was locked once more. Sweat had loosened my unruly curls and they hung in my face while I wrenched the door of a nearby cabinet open. Pen nibs, inkpots and wax sealers rattled to and fro as I peered in. I grabbed a handful of the pointed pen tips and forced them to work their way into the lock. Precious seconds ticked by. I heard a commotion behind me, more footsteps. I was being pursued. 

With a few more desperate rattles the lock gave. I wrenched the handle into a turn and darted inside. I slammed the door closed behind me, sliding a chair in front of it to slow down whoever was running after me. 

I took a quick glance around the office. I didn’t need anything more to confirm my suspicions. The light was on in Doctor Lee’s back room. The door to my workroom was open. She’d checked to see if I was there. With the relative infrequency of Doctor Lee’s visits to my workspace the subtle change held significance. 

“Just lie down.” I heard Doctor Lee say from behind the frosted glass. 

“Honestly, I’m really fine.” 

That voice was Crane. Exactly as I’d feared it would be. 

“You had an outburst.” Doctor Lee said, “In fact in your time here you’ve had several. We warned you what would happen if you continued.” 

“I just forgot to drink my tea this morning.” Crane protested. 

“Come on now, best to just do as the Doctor says Sir.” Peter’s voice added. 

The door to the office rattled. At finding it locked and barred whoever was outside began to bang on the door. The whole frame shook. I was sure that the doctor could hear it. Words bubbled and boiled in my chest, but they got caught in my throat. There was a net between my teeth that kept all my sentences from flying out. Unable to speak my only option was action. 

They hadn’t locked this door. I burst into the back office in time to see Peter tighten a leather strap, securing one of Crane’s wrists to an operating table. They both turned and looked surprised to see me. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Peter said. 

“He’s supposed to be in class.” I said in response. 

“Crane’s not feeling very well.” Doctor Lee informed me. 

“He’s fine. I swear. I was there when he was talking with that instructor.” I said. 

“Attending lectures and neglecting your work? Again?” Doctor Lee asked. She clicked her tongue at me. “I expected better from you. I suppose you’re also responsible for that commotion outside.” 

“Yes…yes ma’am. I think I am.” I said. 

She was holding a scalpel. I’d faced both bigger beasts and bigger knives, but there was something uniquely unsettling at being threatened with a surgical instrument. I perceived her advancement towards me as a threat, backing away as she came forward. Every table was too far for me to take something to combat the scalpel with. 

“I’d rather you return to your work and leave me to mine.” She said. 

“I’d be happy too, as soon as you let Crane go back to class.” I replied. There was a nervous quiver in my voice. I couldn’t avoid that, but I spoke my mind all the same. 

“I’ll send him along just as soon as he’s taken his medicine.” Doctor Lee assured me. She plastered a smile on her face that stretched impossibly long. I thought the corners of her lips would slip right past her cheeks and extend past the boundaries of human possibility. She had backed me out of the room Crane was in. The pounding on the door was loud enough to echo through the tiled office. It hurt my ears. 

“It’s fine!” Doctor Lee called towards the door. “I’ve got him.” 

The noise stopped. 

“What do you mean? What do they want?” I asked. 

“So many questions.” She replied, “I like that about you. I really do, but right now isn’t the time. I’ve got other things to take care of you and I just can’t have you running around.” 

Now we stood in the workroom’s open doorway. I took one more step backwards. Doctor Lee seized the moment and closed the door. I was worried that she’d do that but I was so overwhelmed I hadn’t seen a way around it. My heart jumped in my chest when I heard the click of the workroom door locking. The bitch was keeping me sealed inside. 

“You’ll be able to come out once I’m done.” She assured me from the other side as I pounded on the wooden barrier. “I just can’t have you interrupting. Get to work Yilmarie. Complete the task you were assigned. Things will not go well for you and your red-jacket friend if I’m disappointed.” 

I kept pounding on the door until purple-black bruises covered my hands. It hadn’t splintered and I’d lost the strength to shake it long ago. In despair I turned to Caryll’s notebook. I picked up the troublesome tome and held it a few inches above the flaming gas light. I wanted to drop it, make a statement about just how little I cared whether I disappointed her or not. But she had threatened Izaius. The ghost of the carnation he’d given me was still on the desk, I held its silhouette there in my mind though the object was long gone. Whatever she was doing to Crane I would not let the same thing happen to any of the others. 

I put the book down on the counter and sat on the floor. I pressed my hands together, knotting my fingers in-between each other. With closed eyes I squeezed them tight until I could feel a dull pulsing in my palms. I sat there until time lost all meaning, furiously pleading to every god I’d ever been taught that I’d be able to find a way out of this. None of them responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	9. 9. In Deadly Crescent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up kids, we're entering the end of the second act. Capture, boys with pretty eyelashes, sea gull attacks, swearing. It's all coming together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always please let me know what you thought! Your feedback means the world to me~

“I’m not hiding any longer.” Fwahe said. With a weapon at her hip the Vileblood was confident she could tackle any threat that awaited her on deck. She was not a member of the crew and refused to be contained against her will. 

“Roshin told us to stay put.” Delphine hissed. 

“She doesn’t own me.” Fwahe said, opening the door with a flick of her wrist. She slid out of the room like a wolf on the hunt, bent over and darting from shadow to shadow. 

“The Captain might need us.” Merribelle said glancing at the door. 

“Absolutely not.” Delphine barked. 

They were getting louder than they realized. I feared they would give up our position if this continued. I respected them, and knew they were my only way home. At the same time the Vileblood had a point- I didn’t belong to them. I grabbed a sword from the wall and followed her lead. I ignored pleading calls from the others and continued down the corridor. I could just barely make out Fwahe a few paces ahead of me. She had almost reached the passage to the deck. 

Another gunshot stopped us dead. The sound ripped through the silence, ringing in your ears. My heart pounded as she seized the reverberating echo of the gun shot to cover the click of the door. Fwahe let it swing open freely, exposing the scene that the Prestwicks had set. Nicholas had Roshin and Sereja surrounded. Four dogs prowled around them, locking the pirates in an ever-shrinking circle. With each round they completed the hounds drew slightly closer together. Men and women with swords and guns stood on the ramp to the ship, but Nicholas was the only one on deck. He had his pistol in one hand, the other was turned palm out to his gang, holding them back. 

Neither one of the girls appeared to be injured despite the shots that had been fired. I was sure his aim couldn’t be so abysmal that he would miss them from such a minimal distance. He was toying with them. Fwahe took a final glance before striding onto the deck in full view. 

“Get back here!” I hissed. 

She ignored me, charging headfirst towards Nicholas. His sister’s sword sparkled in the Vileblood’s hands. Two things clicked into place. The first was the corner of Lord Prestwick’s mouth which snapped into the corner of his face fixing his face into a smirk only members of the aristocracy were privy too. The second was the trigger. 

The third gunshot of the night rocked the ship. Even though I had been able to see this one coming the magnitude of the sound wasn’t diminished in the slightest. I was sure that the next sound would be a scream or gushing blood, but there were no such noises. The only sound that followed was a metallic clatter. Two halves of bullet, severed by the sword fell to the deck, burning holes in the timber with their residual heat. 

“So that’s how it’s going to be then?” Nicholas asked as Fwahe continued her charge towards him. “So be it.” 

With a snap of his gloved fingers his men surged forward. The dogs snarled and closed the distance between the pirates. It was a mess of blood and teeth as Roshin and Sereja battled the beasts. Fwahe sliced through one Prestwick man after another, cutting down the army of hunters and sellswords he’d brought with him. Nicholas stood back from it all a few paces, letting the blood soak the tips of his leather boots. 

“Get up here!” I shouted down to the rest of the crew, before leaping in to join the fray myself. 

I was quickly locked in a duel with a hooded opponent. The man wielded two small curved scimitars. In the night it made it seem like he had hooks for hands. With each tilt he tried to lock my sword in the crook of his blade and pull it out of my hands. His strategy might have worked if we were equally matched, but he was hardly more than a twig. All the studded leather armor in the world couldn’t make up for the fact that I weighed more and had greater strength. I pulled away from each parry until I was able to step inside his strike. I rammed my shoulder into his chest, knocking him off balance. 

He went down quick, and farther then I thought possible. Sudden realization hit me and I took a step backwards. I’d shoved him hard enough to break through the ship’s railing and send him flying overboard. A sickening snap resounded through the night instead of a splash. I’d knocked him back onto the dock. The scimitar-wielder wouldn’t be getting back into the battle any time soon. 

Defeating him meant nothing. As soon as he was gone two more took his place. They were identical as far as I was concerned, each of them wearing their long hair back in a single braid. The two women came at me with two swords each. Sparks clashed as I struggled to fend off both their flurries of strikes with just the one sword. I let the soles of my boots be slashed, stopping their stabs with kicks when I couldn’t raise my blade to meet theirs in time. Neither of them seemed touchable, each nimbly dodging every swipe and parry I launched into their direction. I cringed as their razor-sharp blades sliced my arms. 

The footwork I’d learned from years of fencing matches with church elders was the only thing keeping me alive. They could catch me, but they couldn’t get close enough to kill. I kept dancing around the pair of them, taking the occasional cut if I was even just a millisecond too slow. There was no error margin. 

A fourth gunshot tore through the night. I felt this one, it streaked right by me and exploded through one of the dual-wielder’s chests. A spray of blood accompanied it seconds later. The fifth shot took out her twin til both were lying down on the deck, shining swords abandoned. Their hands would never raise a weapon again. 

I looked behind me and saw the cavalry of the Searider Falcon. They didn’t ride in on white steeds like knights in ancient stories had. The pirates did not move in a uniform unyielding squadron with perfectly polished Logarius Wheels as Alfred told me the Executioners did. They blossomed like an untamed rose, spreading out to wherever they were afforded the best opportunity. Ever the helmsmen it was Delphine who’d killed the two women. She rested the barrel of a rifle on the ship’s wheel, taking deadly aim and eliminating target after target. The rest of them launched themselves into the fray. Merribelle bashed the skull of a snarling hound in with a mace. Harker made quick work of several enemies with swings from a standard hunter’s axe. 

I wasn’t afforded another second to check on the progress of anyone else. The slobbering mutts had it out for me, and came pounding across the deck. Their enormous paws splashed blood and bone from fallen fighters to and fro as they attended their singular purpose. I grabbed one of the swords that had fallen from the mirror images and hurled it at the closest one. There was a whimper and a thump. The remaining dog leapt at me. Its jaws were open and sought purchase on my shoulder. I saw it coming. Dogs were stupid and predictable; I’d fought scores of them. At the last second I pivoted. The pad of its paw scraped my upper arm uselessly. The dog let out a surprised yelp as the excess momentum carried it overboard. Another crack and it joined the scimitar man. 

“Kohso! You’re left!” Meru shouted. The engineer went charging past me. The point of the spear she carried was coated in blood. I turned to my side just in time to drop into a roll. A girl with a kirkhammer would’ve splattered me across the deck if it hadn’t been for the warning. The enormous weapon sent vibrations across the deck where it landed. I was surprised it didn’t split the timber. I wheeled around needlessly to combat her. Her throat was already billowing blood, impaled on Sereja’s trident. She had managed to escape the maelstrom of enemies. Sereja planted her boot on the hammer-wielder’s dead body and pulled her weapon out of the corpse. 

She looked me over for a second. I nodded at her, I was okay. She stood at my back as enemies swirled around us. 

“Stand down!” 

The call came from Roshin. Sereja dropped her trident immediately, without question. I didn’t let my sword slip so easily. Nicholas Prestwick’s henchmen came forward, brimming with new confidence now that she was unarmed. They took her by the wrists, wrenching them behind her back and pressing down until she was kneeling in the gore she’d created. They took me down next, taking the sword from my hands and tossing it away. 

Looking up from the ground I saw the reason for Roshin’s cry. While we were caught up in the throes of battle Nicholas had slunk down to the Captain’s quarters. He held Ratliff’s hair with one hand, a fistful of curls. The barrel of his gun was pressed into his chin, a beam of perfect moonlight shining on the one pale finger hovering above the trigger. 

“Don’t…” Ratliff gasped. “Don’t worry about me.” 

Another tug at her hair silenced her. It was all she could do not to scream. Someone took away Delphine’s gun. A man four times the size of Ottilie forced her to the floor then held a knife to her throat. I was surprised to see the young girl’s eyes were full of rage where I’d expected fear. The Prestwick employees couldn’t scare her like the Vileblood had. That same Vileblood was the only one who remained standing. Roshin was on her knees like the rest of us, bearing no resemblance to the proud captain she’d been moments before. 

“Take her too.” Nicholas said, waving his gun at Fwahe. 

A few took hesitant steps toward her. She was coated in their blood. Fwahe looked Nicholas Prestwick right in the eyes and licked a trail of blood off her arm. She still held the sword she’d looted, and it was at bloody as she was. His men would go no further. 

He changed tactics. “On your knees. You too, or she dies.” 

“She is nothing to me.” Fwahe said callously. “My problem is with your sister who sought to subjugate my meal.” 

“Excuse me?” Nicholas asked. 

“I’d rather not.” Fwahe quipped. She took a step forward. 

His grip on Ratliff tightened. Tears welled in her eyes from the pain. I tried to ignore them but they shone in the low light, impossibly visible. Fwahe was undaunted, and she was going to get us all killed. Refusing to stand down she continued towards Lord Prestwick, daring him to intercede. I couldn’t fathom why she would choose to play such a dangerous game. 

Nicholas nodded his head. The handle of a sword cracked against Fwahe’s head. The determination that burned in her eyes flickered out as she lost consciousness and slumped to the ground. Her assailant removed the hood she wore. 

“Did I do ok?” She asked. 

“Of course Moraine, my sweet sister.” Nicholas purred. 

“How many of you Prestwick bastards are there?” Ratliff coughed. 

Lord Prestwick twisted his fist around. I cringed, worried strands of hair would snap from the strain, if that was even possible. He leaned down close, his lips right against her ear. “There are thirteen of us, each fiercer then the last. You would do well to fear us, rat.” 

If Ratliff had a response for him, I never got to hear it. Moraine Prestwick came after me next. A tap was all it took for my world to go black. The boat and the bodies and the blood all swirled together then vanished. 

I swore I was falling, tumbling off the side of the ship. I couldn’t feel my body moving yet I was in motion all the same. I fell through the water, but there was no splash, there was no cold. I sank through depths that should have been dark but sparkled with crystal clarity instead. I must’ve been falling for hours until I reached the bottom. Where I had been told to expect sand I found glistening diamonds instead. The ground was made from them, thousands of faceted ovals and sparkling squares. They were sharp enough to cut my feet, yet I floated above them unfeeling. 

And then I saw an arm, enormous and blue reaching out towards me. Even her pinky finger was taller than I was, towering over me impossibly large. I could’ve crawled to its acropolis using the swirling pattern of her finger prints. I floated there, looking up at the unfathomable Kos. She opened her mouth to speak to me, it was like a cave. The waves flowed in and bubbles came out. 

“Forgive me, Great Lady Kos,” I said, “But I cannot hear you.” 

Over and over this continued. She tried to talk. I tried to listen. We didn’t make any progress. How could I be standing in the jeweled depths of the sea, staring into the face of the divine? How could I be so cursed as to be denied conversation. 

Then suddenly words broke through. There was a sharp stinging. I opened eyes I didn’t know were closed. 

“Would you quit shouting already?!” A familiar voice growled, “The gods might not be able to hear you but I sure can!” 

Blinking drowsily the world came back in a rush. I was not beneath the sea I was on top of it, still on a boat. Everything was strangely on its side. I could only see the legs of the person who’d accosted me. They were uncovered, which made their owner obvious. 

“Fwahe?” I asked. 

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” She barked. 

“You told me stop shouting.” I muttered as the world slowly faded in. I was lying down, that’s what everything looked wrong. I tried to push myself up, but every muscle in my body resisted this. I was overwhelmed with a sudden seizure of soreness. My hands shook slightly, but that was all that could be managed. 

“Well now I’m telling you to be quiet.” Fwahe said. 

I ignored her. “Where are we?” 

She sighed. “Another prison. I should’ve let him shoot that girl.” 

“What happened to the others?” I asked. 

“We’re not talking about it.” She snapped. She nudged me in the side with her bare foot to accentuate her point. I winced. Silence held taut between us for a while. “I also don’t know. I haven’t seen them.” 

Slowly things began to shift into focus. We were in a crate of some kind, locked inside with wooden walls and roof. It wasn’t a very large crate. Fwahe had given me most of the floor space, she was leaning against one of the walls in the far corner. Her head brushed the ceiling of the box. There were no signs of food or water, and minimal light came in through gaps in the wood. Someone had tied cloth around the cuts I’d incurred in the fight last night. The crate swayed back and forth, a thousand times worse than standing on deck. My stomach gurgled. 

“Don’t you dare.” Fwahe cautioned. 

“I won’t.” I said. “I promise.” 

Once I’d calmed my stomach and adjusted to the light, things began to change again. The box was jostled. One end was tilted up. I slid down into Fwahe’s corner and slammed into her. I yelped, the wooden side of the crate wasn’t the kind of thing you wanted to be thrown against. 

“Sorry.” I said. 

As soon as the apology was out, the box was tilted in the opposite direction. The both of us slid backwards. I hit the wall first, and Fwahe crashed into my legs. She didn’t apologize, probably saw it as retribution. The box was being pulled upward, and being hauled inside of it was one of the worst sensations I’d ever experienced. Every few second it felt like the ground was pulled out from beneath you. 

There was a jolt of nausea with every inch of increased elevation. 

With a slam it all came to a stop. There was a scraping and then the top of the crate came off. Daylight blinded us, scalding our eyes with its brilliance. 

“Out you get!” A voice even less friendly then Fwahe’s barked. 

She climbed out easily enough. I gripped the edge of the crate with shivering limbs and flopped unceremoniously over its side. I landed hard on the deck of a ship. There was a decent amount of laughter. Men came forward and hauled me to my feet, the Vileblood was able to stand on her own. Her guards were not as hesitant as her brothers and took hold of Fwahe immediately, chaining her wrists together behind her. I tried to turn away and avoid looking at my captor. I had a sinking suspicion of whom it could be and I wanted to delay confirmation, if only for a few seconds. 

A string of small row boats each loaded with crates extended out from the boat to the shore. We were not the only ones being transported like this. Wherever they were taking us, we wouldn’t be going alone. One of the men holding me caught my stray attention and wrenched my head forwards. For a brief moment I locked eyes with Alexandrine Prestwick. 

She smiled. 

I shivered. 

“I recognize you.” She said, “Don’t think you can hide your face from me, boy. Those marks of yours give you away.” 

I felt an instant itch beneath my eye where the two moles were. If I could’ve ripped them off I would’ve. Even without them I was pretty sure she would’ve been able to find me. She lifted my chin with her index finger forcing me to look into her eyes. They were blue, sparkling with impossible color, glassy and frozen. Whatever she was seeking in my gaze she didn’t seem to find it. She let my chin drop after a few more seconds. 

“And you brought your friend with you.” She said, “How lovely.” 

“She’s no friend of mine.” I replied. 

For the second time that day I was slapped in the face. This one was much harder. I felt rather than saw my cheek go red. One of her rings hit my lip and it started to bleed. I couldn’t wipe it away, it dripped onto my borrowed sweater. 

“Did I say you could speak?” She asked. 

I shook my head. 

“Did I ask for your opinion?” She asked. 

Another shake of the head. I hated this. 

She smiled, and continued where I’d interrupted her. “How lovely. A hunter of the church in leagues with the worst of all creatures, the beasts in human skin. The scandals this will raise when word reaches Vicar Lanthem and the Head Executioner.” 

If terror hadn’t been in my eyes when she’d first sought it, it was sure to be there now. Guilt replaced nausea at the thought of my elders being informed of the things I’d done. I didn’t try to talk her out of it. It was not for fear of more pain, I would endure any amount to keep this concealed from the church. Rather it was because I couldn’t, something hot and heavy had gripped my chest. It burned as though molten gold had been poured down my throat and was now cooking me from the inside out. She left me like this, turning her attention to Fwahe. 

“What a rare find you are. How long you must’ve been running. You must’ve thought yourself so clever to avoid capture this long. Though you’ve cheated death before, you will not make it out of this one.” Alexandrine grinned. 

Fwahe let loose a volley of insults. For once her profanity didn’t bother me. Alexandrine deserved all that was said about her and more. The Lady Prestwick endured it all with dignity. She looked down the bridge of her nose at Fwahe, with an air of aristocratic indifference. 

“Take them both below.” She said. “Process them with the others.” 

As the men carried me below decks my boots scraped the floor. They clattered down the stairs, falling on to each one below with a thump. I was so weary they hadn’t even thought to chain my wrists until I was in the room they intended. The middle of the ship, the brig, was full of people. Most of them were younger than me but they ranged in age a good deal. Our cuffs were clipped onto a larger chain which ran through several other sets, connecting us altogether in one giant snake. They chained Fwahe behind me. She seemed irritated to be last in line. What’s worse was that they were making her wait at all. Even if it was something terrible the Vileblood was the kind of person who abhorred delays of any kind. If someone was going to chop off her head, they better hurry up and swing the sword already. 

No one was losing heads today, though that was really about all we were allowed to keep. Processing, as Alexandrine had put it involved taking everything we had away from us. I had to undress in front of an entire room, suffer the indignity of being naked in front of a Vileblood to change into new clothes that matched the other captives. It was a one-piece grey suit that felt like paper. It was about as useful as paper for keeping out the cold. They took away my earrings, both the one that had broken and the one that remained whole. They were thrown into a box with rings and necklaces and hunter’s badges. Everything inside the box shimmered like treasure, but they treated it like trash. I had to give up my badges too. They cut almost everyone’s hair short, but mine was under their limit. It must’ve been neat enough; they didn’t mess with it. I got wooden shoes that were half-way rotted and too small for my feet. They wouldn’t let me keep my boots. 

Embroidered across each of the grey suits was a different number. Six digits that the Prestwick Company used instead of names. I hated each of them. I picked out the brown thread they were made of, trying to somehow scratch them off, but the stitching was stronger than my fingernails. They’d clipped them, unwilling to let anyone have any weapon for any reason. Getting Fwahe to comply with this was quite the task. They forced her hands into a brace, strapping each finger down individually. She fought it like an alley cat, twisting and struggling the whole way. I was trying to keep my dignity intact; passive resistance had worked for clergymen before. No amount of preaching was going to quell Fwahe’s unspent rage. 

When she changed out of her clothes some people laughed and others gasped. On instinct I turned to look too, not out of any sort of lecherous desire but more knee jerk reaction. Someone had carved a rune deep into her back, it was riddled with old scars. It stretched impossibly straight down her spine. I turned away the second after I saw it, shuddering to think what it’s application must have felt like. 

I tried to locate the crew of the Searider Falcon in the endless line. Everyone looked so different with their identical clothes and uniform hair. They’d even cut Fwahe’s shorter. There was something scratched into her neck that I couldn’t quite make out. It was another old scar but she worked hard to cover it, turning up the nonexistent collar of her new clothes. 

Even in uniform she stood out from the rest. The wooden shoes they’d given the rest of us were quickly seen as a weapon on Fwahe’s feet. She kicked them off and tried to launch them at her captors. In return for this assault she received cuffs around her ankles and a pair of heavy woolen socks over her feet. She slipped across the damp timber whenever she tried to walk. I envied those socks, the wooden walls of my shoes scraped against the back of my heel and the sides of my feet. I tried to tuck the legs of my coveralls further into my shoe to act as a barrier but couldn’t manage it with my hands cuffed. 

“This one’s already got holes in his ears.” One of the processing men said to her partner. 

“Makes it easier on us.” The second one responded. She grabbed my ear and forced an iron ring into it. After they had done the same to Fwahe I noticed the word Prestwick stamped into the metal. 

After the rings we were nearly done. We could see the end of the chain. Captives were sorted according to an algorithm I didn’t understand. 

“Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five.” The processing man at the end of the line read out. I didn’t realize he was talking to me until I got my third slap in the face that morning. I placed his in the middle, with Fwahe’s on the bottom and Alexandrine’s on the top. The cut on my lip threatened to re-open and I sucked it furiously to keep it at bay. He repeated the number again. 

“Yes sir?” I asked hesitantly. 

“He’s as dumb as the rest of them, don’t even know his own name.” the processing man chuckled. He didn’t have a partner or an audience but he made a show of it all the same. His comment was enough to make me realize that he was reading off the numbers on my uniform, 158195. I ran my finger over the embroidered number eight. 

“It’s Kohso.” I said, tensing for another blow. “My name’s Kohso actually, sir.” 

The processing man’s eyes lit with malice. “Ah so you’re one of Madame Alexandrine’s special ones. Word of advice, Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five, I wouldn’t go bragging about that if I were you.” 

He shoved me towards another man. I crash landed on the floor, unable to catch myself with my hands cuffed behind my back. The processing man’s laughter echoed through the brig as I was dragged to my feet and taken to another room filled with cages. The cages were filled with people, all of them appeared to be boys. I guessed that they were probably further categorizing us. My hands were hung on a hook inside one of them. The door to the cage was slammed and locked behind me. 

“Stand on your toes for as long as you can.” One of the other prisoners said. “Your wrists never really get better if the cuffs make them bleed.” 

“Thank you.” I said, locating the source of the voice. The boy was struggling to stand from across the room. He was a head shorter then I was with an angular face and the most beautiful eyelashes I’d ever seen. He blinked in-between every word he said, and twitched occasionally. I attributed it to some sort of stress-response, and resolved not to stare or make comments. 

I was actually tall enough to stand on my feet properly. A few of the other prisoners had to strain themselves, and it looked fairly taxing. I was glad Yilmarie wasn’t here with me. Endurance and height were two things he kept in short supply. 

“I’m Kohso, by the way.” I said, ignoring the processing man from earlier and trying to make conversation. The prisoner across the way seemed to attribute no significance to the name, but a few of the others in the room exchanged glances. 

“Salter.” He replied, “I’d offer you a handshake, but I’m a little tied up at the moment.” 

It was a pitiful joke but I gave him a smile and a weak chuckle. Some of the others genuinely laughed. A fist crashed on the room’s door and everyone flinched. We’d been too loud. 

“With a church name like that you must be a hunter.” Salter whispered. 

“Yes.” I said. 

“How organized of you.” Salter remarked, “Everyone thinks I work in a salt mine or something. I’m the fourth Salter in my line, and our family hasn’t been miners since the first of the Salters. Could you imagine being a hunter named Hunter or a tailor named Taylor? It’d be bloody awful.” 

People pressed their faces into their arms to stifle the laughter. No one could use their hands. I caught mine in a cough and offered another smile. It ended in a wince, I’d stretched my split lip too far. 

“Are you a hunter?” I asked. 

He shook his head, “None of those showy jobs for me. I’m a Powder Keg apprentice…or at least I was until I got picked up by this lot. I can make weapons I’m just not great at fighting with them. How’s that for irony, a gunsmith who can’t hit a fucking target?” 

“Ninety-One Twenty-Two Fifty-Eight if you don’t stop wagging that tongue of yours I’ll come in there and rip it out!” The guard snarled. 

“He wants me.” Salter whispered, winking at the closed door. 

All the same we stayed on the side of caution. The room held itself in uneasy silence as the boat swayed to and fro. It was a little easier to keep my stomach steady now that I could stand. There wasn’t much I could do to brace myself and keep the cages from shifting, but it felt better to at least try. Doing something was better than sitting still. I slowly began to adjust to the movements, and stop reeling from it as much. 

We weren’t joined by any other captives. I tried to puzzle out the common trait that had led to our confinement and categorization, but I didn’t know much about any of the others. They hadn’t gotten a chance to talk. We weren’t all hunters, but perhaps we were all novices of one form or another. That didn’t seem a likely reason to put us in a group. None of looked similar, at least from what I could tell. We were different heights and hair colors. 

Somehow, I fell asleep. I don’t know if it was the silence or the rocking of the boat that slowly lulled me into a stupor but consciousness slipped past me. I was still standing, the entire time on my feet. I didn’t know it was possible for a person to sleep standing up, but now I was living proof. It’s not a position I would recommend. Your limbs lock up. I’d lost feeling in my hands and my toes. Upon waking I found that my muscles on top of being sore no longer responded to my thoughts properly. I was briefly horrified, fearing loss of limb but as I did my best to frantically shake them back to life, movement and control returned. 

I was glad I had worked to regain things so quickly. The next moment the door opened. There was no blinding light, we were all below decks and our world was colored by candles, but the sound of it shook me. The hinges screamed, the wood raked it’s claws across the ground as though resisting. It was trying to hold itself back. The floorboards too shot off their warnings, as her heels caused them to send sharp warning shots into our ears. There were dozens of them as she crossed the room. More warning shots came from her shoes then Nicholas had fired the last time I’d been a free man. 

She came to a rest in front of my cage. If I’d been Salter’s height she would’ve towered above me, but we were right at eye level with each other. Cold blue against candlelit brown. Her mouth took straw sentences and spun them to poisoned gold which slipped past her teeth and sparkled briefly before striking. 

“Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five.” She greeted me, “So those are the ones you wear.” 

“Not by choice, I assure you Madame Prestwick.” I replied. 

“Well consider them your lucky numbers.” She said. I was surprised she hadn’t slapped me. Her hands were already occupied, a series of moving circles as she spoke. They cast snake-like shadows on the wall and floor, surrounding her with serpents. “You’re called upon to dine with me.” 

The mere mention launched a symphony of growling stomachs from around the room. I wasn’t going to refuse a chance to eat no matter how odious my hostess. I bowed my head in consent. She removed a key from a chain on her belt and unlocked the cage. She unclipped my cuffs and I was allowed to put down my arms. I closed my eyes and stayed in the bliss it brought me for as long as I was able. A total of three seconds, then she hooked her finger on the collar of my uniform and pulled me along. I nearly fell flat on my first step, slamming my knee into one of the cage bars to catch myself. 

The pain came in waves, and the bruise would come later, but I’d keep from kneeling for as long as I could. 

“Try and keep up, Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five.” She commanded. 

The pace was not easy on my weary legs. I wobbled and strained, leaning against walls and doorframes at every opportunity. There were drunks who could walk straighter then me. She had the audacity to keep the same speed when going up stairs. Never had something so simple been so difficult. Fingers without nails clawed the polished railing to no avail. I slammed my knees into each of the eighteen steps, but didn’t go down once. 

Dinner was served on the deck. It was early evening, the last colors of the sunset still clung to the horizon line. The table was set for twelve, though few seats were occupied. One of them was taken by Fwahe. She loomed at the far end of the table. All I could really see of her was the golden glint of her eye. The shadow of the mast kept her from being anything more than a general silhouette. Officers I didn’t recognize sat to either side of her. 

A boy dressed like me was lighting the many candles in the table’s centerpieces. With each new flame I got a better look at things. Alexandrine Prestwick pulled my chair out for me. I didn’t thank her. I was made to sit directly across from Fwahe. Perhaps for symmetry’s sake if nothing else two officers took their places to either side of me. Of course the Lady Prestwick took the head of the table. She sat down the same instant the last candle was lit. 

Fwahe took a break from glaring at me to glare at her, devoting all of hatred at her captor. If I had a scowl half as good, I would’ve followed suit. With a snap of her manicured fingers, Alexandrine had the lids removed from sparkling silver trays. The scent of roasted bird and spiced vegetables crashed over the deck, as powerful as any wave. 

“Thank you for joining me.” She said. “

Like we had a choice.” Fwahe growled. After a moment’s deliberation she added “bitch” to the end of her sentence. Whatever captivity she was undergoing must’ve take effect. Her insults had lost a bit of their usual punch. She could come up with better. 

“I thought it only customary.” Alexandrine returned, carving a slice of meat off one of the birds as she spoke. Her hands didn’t fumble with the cutlery the way I’d always done at dinners. I was fine with a fencing foil or short sword but anything smaller and I became clumsier then I cared to display. Despite lessons in proper dining practice I’d always opted to let someone else do the meat carving. It irritated me that she could perform a task that I struggled with so easily. “Last meals are supposed to be good ones. How lucky you are to be sharing yours with one of the most prominent families in the world.” 

“So you’re going to kill us?” Fwahe concluded. 

“Not personally, no.” She replied. 

“One of them?” Fwahe asked sizing up the guards on either side. 

“Certainly not.” Alexandrine laughed, “If anyone aboard this ship is going to kill you I assure you I would be the one swinging the sword. The same sword you stole from me if you want to get down to specifics, but no. Your death will not come from the hands of any man or any woman. It is unlikely it shall come from any hands at all.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Fwahe growled. 

“Oh come now, calm yourself. Eat something.” Alexandrine said, chasing away Fwahe’s question with a dismissive wave of the hand. At the gesture the officers to the sides of us took up their own cutlery, piling our plates with things of their choosing. With cuffed hands we wouldn’t be able to feed ourselves without their assistance. 

I swallowed my humiliation along with bits of turkey and pheasant and roasted carrot. Peas dripping with hot melted butter spilled down my throat and down my chin. Everything was richer than anything I’d ever eaten. Not even church banquets could hold a candle to this. I ate everything the Prestwick Officers offered. Fwahe did the same, only to chew it briefly and spit moist mouthfuls as far down the table as she could manage. They never reached Alexandrine, but a few came dangerously close. There were enough almosts that the officers stopped offering. 

“How rude of me.” Alexandrine said, “We must offer our guest something that is in line with her own tastes.” 

She snapped her fingers and three of the numbered captives came forward. They stood with their heads craned backwards, looking up at the sky. It gave the Vileblood a good view of their necks. None of them could’ve been older then thirteen. 

“I’ve never had much of a fondness for blood, not even blood puddings. Naturally I wasn’t sure what would taste best, so forgive me if I didn’t supply anything extravagant. Take your pick.” 

“You can’t!” I shouted, “They’re children!” 

“Mmm-mm.” Alexandrine argued, dabbing her lips with a cloth napkin, “They’re cargo. It only reasons we should have a bit of spillage now and then.” 

“This is ungodly! This is unlawful!” I shouted. 

My world was sent spinning from the blow that followed, delivered by the officer to my right. Alexandrine gave an overly dramatic sigh. 

“Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five, I expected more from you. Didn’t your elders teach you your manners?” She asked. “I have a title; I expect it to be used. This is a proper dinner, and everyone should be allowed to partake in it. Is it fair to deny Twenty-Four Eighty-Six Nineteen a proper meal?” 

Of course it was fair. She was a monster living on borrowed time, she’d survived far too long. I should’ve let her die when I had the chance. 

“Answer me Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five!” she bellowed. 

“No, ma’am.” I said, giving her the answer she wanted to hear. 

“Good.” She said. The officers pulled out Fwahe’s chair and led her over to the line of children. She tried to yank her arms free of the men, but they held her firm. “Don’t resist it. Drink your fill.” 

“You think I could sate my hunger with culled lambs?” Fwahe spat, “Ridiculous. The only blood I intend to drink on this ship is yours.” 

One of the officers drew back his hand with the full intent to send Fwahe’s head spinning in a way that echoed mine. Alexandrine held up her hand to deter this. She calmly took another sip from her goblet. 

“Officer Billings, it would be unwise to bring your hand so close to a Vileblood’s mouth. Twenty-Four Eighty-Six Nineteen is empty threats and nothing more. Let her boast all she likes; it only makes her seem a greater fool. Go ahead and slit a throat for her.” 

Billings wasted no time. He took a knife from the table and grabbed the nearest child, slicing across her throat. The girl’s eyes barely had time to widen before blood began to flow. I tried to turn away, but the Officers made me watch. At first, feigning some kind of nobility Fwahe tried to resist drinking. She didn’t hold herself off very long, quickly pressing her lips against the laceration to drain the girl’s body herself. 

She took a lot more time to drink then I thought. I knew it had been awhile since her last meal, but she didn’t consume the blood in desperate gulps. She drank in one continuous stream, a fluid motion. Her lips were stained bright red as they came away from the corpse. She let it drop to the floor with a hollow thud. The officers re-seated her, and I stared at the tablecloth refusing to look into the monster’s eyes. 

The dinner continued for hours. Course after course was rotated around the table. The two girls that Billings hadn’t slain were still there, watching. Fwahe was given another one at the same time we were provided with coffee, a post-meal refreshment. I lost all taste for coffee in that moment as I looked on at the second murder of the night. Fwahe didn’t consume this one nearly as neatly. She must have been full off the first one. 

When dessert was served there was nothing but lamp light to see by. The sun was long gone. I was given spoonsful of some decadent dark chocolate and raspberry concoction. On a good day this was the kind of thing Eros and I would’ve wasted pocket money on and savored for hours, but piled on top of a seven course meal it felt like a different kind of torture. The richness made me sick, as well as the sight of Fwahe drinking her own dessert. 

“I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves.” Alexandrine said, “Despite being terrible company. I did my best, but I suppose I can’t expect everyone to have been schooled in the social graces. Pity really, if our destination was somewhere different I might have the hopes of educating one of you. Doubtless there was some potential, at least with Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five.” 

The numbers took so much longer to say. Kohso was a short, it was decent but most importantly it was a name. I didn’t know that was something that could make you homesick, just wanting to be called by your proper name. I’d endured the nicknames from Ratliff and Fwahe because it didn’t seem as though they could be convinced to call me anything else, but the numbers bothered me. Maybe it was the randomness of it all, that my name was now determined by whatever uniform happened to be next on the pile. In that same line of thinking I suppose nobody really gets to choose their own name, but some are clearly better than others. I wanted my own back. 

“It is just the cost of doing business I suppose.” She sighed. 

“What’s going to happen to us now, ma’am?” I asked. 

“Much like the children Twenty-Four Eighty-Six Nineteen has gone through, this journey requires a sacrifice. I trust you know of the goddesses Kos?” Alexandrine asked. 

“Yes of course, ma’am. I would be ashamed if I didn’t, ma’am.” I replied. 

“The Black Salt Sea and what lies across it are her territory. Travel between there and here used to be fairly easy but when the hunt began the isles were soon populated with blood drunk hunters. Enraged the goddess let loose a slew of sea monsters to keep people from her shores. We’ve been striving to reach them ever since and have partnered with the church to provide her proper tributes to ensure safe passage. So far nothing has sated her appetites and we’ve lost hundreds of ships.” 

“Which church did you partner with, ma’am?” I asked. 

“As many as we could. We took sacrifices from whomever was willing to raise them for us. The Choir always had someone to spare and there were volunteers dappled throughout the other cities. Odeon Chapel in Yharnam always had a ready supply.” 

“O-Odeon Chapel, ma’am?” I asked. 

“Odeon Chapel.” She repeated, “They were saving someone very special for us. He was supposed to have already come from across the sea, saved from a ravaged village by a dedicated Executioner. The head of that church, Vicar Lanthem promised to raise him in perfect purity, craft an ideal hunter for us.” 

“Vicar Lanthem said that ma’am?” I asked. 

“Yes! Aren’t you listening to me Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five?” She yelled. 

“Yes ma’am.” I whimpered. 

“We were sending the Choir to fetch him, but he had vanished. You’ll have to do in his place, for we’ve no other church hunters ready. It seems almost a sin to consider you a proper sacrifice, with the company you keep and the lack of manner, but you’ll have to do.” Alexandrine said, “Fortunately, we also have Twenty-Four Eighty-Six Nineteen to help us. What god could resist a tribute so rare. Vilebloods are disappearing from this world thanks to the Executioners, this might be the last one she is ever offered. I’ve done all I can to make your last moments pleasurable, and now you must take up your positions and give your lives for this ship.” 

Fwahe raised protestations and fought for a chance at washing her meal down with Alexandrine’s blood. I was only dimly aware of it as the Officers led me away. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of the story she’d told. There was no way it could be true, that my whole life was leading up to this moment on this ship. Vicar Lanthem was the closest thing to a father I’d ever had, he would never have agreed to something like this. 

Somewhere deep down I believed every word Alexandrine had said, but I tried to reject this. I devoted all my efforts to trying to cut her words out of my mind, purge them to the realm of the forgotten. Her story was so fresh it was impossible. Every word she said stood out with burning clarity. They replayed themselves as the Officers dragged us along. 

I wasn’t taken below decks, back to the room with Salter. I didn’t leave the deck at all. Billings unlocked my cuffs, sea air blowing against sweat-soaked skin. To have them free was rapturous, but fleeting. In another moment Fwahe and I were chained together, stretched out in human X shapes in between the sails. We were completely open to the starboard side, fixed looking out into the sea. My right ankle was chained to hers, so were our wrists. The rest was secured to the crossbeams that supported the sail. The officers secured us so tightly, I thought one of arms was going to pop off. 

“And don’t get any ideas about breaking them.” Alexandrine advised, tilting Fwahe’s gaze to meet hers with the jeweled hilt of her sword, “We know a thing or two about Vilebloods and their unusual strengths. These chains are made of siderite, the strongest material in the world, same as the blade of the best hunting swords. You’d have to have the strength of a god to shatter these.” The Vileblood struggled and thrashed, forcing me along with her. Neither her socks nor my shoes were able to gain any purchase on the timbers. I was barely able to stand on my toes. I wasn’t entirely sure if Fwahe could reach the ground, but she had no qualms with stepping on my foot. She carried on like this, refueled by the blood of the innocent. 

“Just give it up already will you?” I begged her. 

“Lost your will to live already, church boy?” She shot back. 

“There’s nothing we can do.” I sighed, “You heard her. These chains are unbreakable.” 

“Well we need to break them all the same.” She refuted. 

“Idiot.” I muttered. 

She stepped down on my foot hard. Despite her soft socks and my shoes, I could still feel the blows impact. It was hard enough to hurt. I didn’t care. 

“It is not my destiny to die here.” She said. 

“I…I think it’s supposed to be mine.” I sighed. 

“Stupid boy.” She scoffed. 

“You wouldn’t understand.” I told her. 

She didn’t protest. There was no insisting that she cold empathize with my plight, I was fairly certain her kind were without the notion of empathy at all. As the light began to vacate the sky the deck began to rattle. I tried to turn my head and see what was causing the sound, but the strain it put on my neck and shoulders was too great. My vision was limited, straight out to see or just an inch behind the railing to either side of me. Whatever action was taking place did happen in my line of sight. 

The sounds got louder, and slowly but surely some of the rattling seemed to be closing distance towards us. They came up on the sides of us, wielding long spears. I could only see the leaders of the lines, but there were chains of captured hunters standing at the ready. I gave the one closest to me a pleading look. If she had noticed it, she ignored it. 

The gulls came first, the same kind of thing that had attacked the Searider Falcon. The eagle-eyed hunters, despite their captivity were excellent at their craft. Before I had gotten a clear read on the closest gull’s position, it went plummeting into the sea. An expert shot from a skilled spear thrower was all it took to condemn the beast, and distance was no obstacle. They picked off a whole flock of the things before any were close enough to do damage. They must’ve launched thirty or forty shots, and there wasn’t a one that didn’t hit its mark. Every spear counted. 

I had hope that the small army would be able to protect the two of us, but when the kraken’s towering limbs rose from the sea the deck’s occupants scattered. I heard them retreat as their chains clattered across the deck. Fwahe rattled the chains like a panicked animal caught in a trap. She was the type that was willing to chew through her own foot if it meant survival. I closed my eyes and tried to make peace with it. This is what the Head Vicar had raised me for, this was what the Choir was planning for me. 

I attributed an apology far too late to Sig and Mika. They had told the truth and were trying to save me from this. Executioner Alfred was really going to take me with him, the other times he hadn’t been able to must’ve been because of Choir interference. I wished I had the Executioner’s badge he’d given me. If I was going to go to my death in numbered clothes and a ring with someone else’s name through my ear I would’ve at least liked to wear my prized possession too. 

I wish he had told me. I wouldn’t have been angry with Vicar Lanthem, there were plenty of church novices who had been intended for tithing. Most of the hunters were there because their families had seen fit to offer them to the church as thanks for their protection. Eros had come to us like that, and he resented his relatives for abandoning him. If I had known it was going to be my destiny to travel to the Black Salt Sea and die so that a hundred others could live, I would’ve taken more advantage of the days I’d been given in Yharnam. I might not have lost so much time ironing my robes and polishing my bed posts if I had known this was what I was intended for. 

Finding my purpose wasn’t making my last moments any easier. Every time one of the beasts’ tentacles slammed onto the deck I was sure it was the last thing I was going to see. Every crash of waves the last sound. Every scent of salted water and drying blood the last thing I would smell. Alexandrine had made sure to make my last meal a good one, and I didn’t resent the richness as much as I had moments before. I had dined like a king. I had seen the world outside of Yharnam and won the admiration of an Executioner. I was going to have been able to deliver them a Vileblood. My life was fuller then I’d ever had the right to hope it could be. Asking for more time would be selfish. 

But I still wanted it. I craved unlived days like a starving man craves bread. The moon and stars were not enough, I wanted another sun rise. There was so much I hadn’t done, and now I had to watch it all be swallowed into the sea. I spent the whole night with my eyes close and my mind open, grappling with the ineffable complexity of wanting to live and wanting to die. In the end it just wasn’t up to me. 

The Prestwick captives protected me. I had thought they were running away when in reality they were just changing formation. The whole night they rolled and ducked and dodged across the deck, coming up in the nick of time to stave the monster off. We lived to see the sun. 

Alexandrine seemed surprised to find the both of us still tethered the next day. Clearly she’d intended for us to be taken and had not counted on the ferocity of the people she imprisoned. I heard her make a few shocked comments to some of her officers. I couldn’t see it in her face, but I could hear it in her voice- she had wanted us to die. By staying alive we had ruined her ceremony, diminished the magnitude of her meal. She couldn’t feel good about killing us now. 

It was a small victory but since it was likely to be my last I treasured it. Fwahe did not seem particularly grateful to have survived. She yelled to the guards and cursed Alexandrine until her insults were carried to other shores. I wondered when she would run out of breath, but she never seemed too. Every struggle that caused her to slip launched a new volley of insults. In the monster’s mind, socks were as much to blame for her problems as the Prestwicks. 

She wasn’t going to be allowed to go unchecked forever. While yesterday it was tolerated because we were supposed to have died last night, now she was just annoying the bourgeoisie. Their first strategy was violence, and they applied that in the form of a whip. I shuddered at the sound of it, which cut through the air and stung the wind. One of the strikes meant for her landed on my shoulder instead, a streak of hot fire which transitioned from painful spark to smoldering inferno. It continued to sting far past when it was delivered. 

I don’t know whether Fwahe’s resistance should be attributed to tougher skin or a stronger will, but she took every strike with unflinching resolve. The tongues of their whips couldn’t silence hers. When they realized that wasn’t working it was decided that she was going to have to be gagged. No one wanted to come that close to a Vileblood’s teeth. Personally I didn’t blame them. Alexandrine was not interested in delays. She had grown very tired of being called various versions of sexual deviants or spoiled female dogs. 

“She fed yesterday, there’s no reason to think she’ll attack you.” Alexandrine reassured her officers. 

“I will bite off your fingers like carrots.” Fwahe snarled. 

Her face was still fixed in a glare even though she couldn’t turn its attention towards the object of her hatred. She could crane her neck further back then I was able, but that only increased visibility by degrees. Alexandrine seemed to want to stay out of sight. 

“Her teeth aren’t that strong.” Alexandrine assured them. 

“I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again! Just try me bitch!” Fwahe yelled. 

“Look I don’t care what you have to do but I want her shut up in the next five minutes!” Lady Prestwick shouted. “Get it done!” 

The officers split up to discuss options. It wasn’t long before they decided to use the only resource they had in excess. One of their captives was called up from below decks. The second he slunk in front of us I recognized him. There were those ridiculous eyelashes again. The sunlight made them flutter even more. He must have had sensitive eyes, or just be terrified of Fwahe. In his hands he carried a strap of leather. 

“Hello Kohso.” He said as he stepped past me, making his way towards Fwahe. 

“Hello Salter.” I replied. 

“It’s good to see you safe.” He said. 

“Don’t hurt him.” I cautioned Fwahe. “Oh are you giving me orders too now, church boy?” 

As Fwahe was yelling at me Salter took his chance. He shoved the strap into her mouth in one fluid motion, leaning in between our ears to buckle it around the back of her head. 

“Don’t lose hope, either of you ok?” He whispered, barely loud enough to hear. He was taking advantage of the closeness. “I’ve been working on a plan, something that will get everyone free. We’re going to keep you alive and we’re going to find a way to take back this ship.” 

Fwahe stopped struggling and let him adjust the strap. I took it to mean she accepted his plan, not that she was okay with being forced into silence. 

“Find iron weapons.” I told him, “That’s how other people escaped other Prestwicks.” 

“Gee, if only I’d thought of that before.” He chuckled. 

There wasn’t time for him to tell us any more of his plan. Job completed, he stepped away from us and back towards the officers. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him give an overly dramatic bow. He talked loud enough for us to hear, “See you little codfish, that wasn’t so hard. Nothing to be afraid of. You go back to your cowering and I’ll go back to my cage.” 

We listened with grins on our faces as Alexandrine drilled into her officers admonishment after admonishment. None of them had ready replies and they stammered around in circles trying to appease her. We had won another small victory. They were enough to keep us going. A small victory would make things tolerable for the next ten minutes. After that you could only hope something else would go your way. 

The captives tried to help us all they could. A girl labeled 455692 gave us both a drink of water when no one was looking. It tasted like soap, and might’ve been intended for deck swabbing but it was welcome relief in the blistering sun. As much as they could, a set of prisoners working in the rigging took their breaks and secret moments sitting in front of us, working to cast their shadows down and briefly offer some shade. It put them directly in the path of the sun. In a thousand small ways they seemed to all be cheering for us. I had no way of thanking them, but I appreciated every ounce of their help. Beyond what comfort and genuine physical strength they restored there was a mental solace I could take too. Everyone here was putting themselves in leagues with a Vileblood. They were trying to help her as well as me. I was not the only hunter assisting a creature. Each of their small favors lifted a tiny bit of guilt away. Slowly it was becoming light enough to breathe again. 

Alexandrine did not take her dinner on deck that night. She didn’t give us anything to eat, and beyond the smuggled water we hadn’t had a drink either. My stomach was making up for Fwahe’s silenced insults by the end of the day. It got more and more ridiculous as time wore on. I couldn’t tell if Fwahe was groaning or laughing behind the gag but she kept stepping on my foot whenever it would start. She was probably groaning. 

I couldn’t make up my mind about which time I preferred. In the day my skin was scorched and sweat ran down my back and chest in uncomfortable rivers. Everything burned, from the metal cuffs to the timbers of the deck. I could feel my skin starting to peel. As bad as it got, at least I could feel all of my fingers. At night the roles reversed, and great gusts of wind stirred up the sea and blew over the deck. The paper outfits did nothing to block their chilling grasp. My teeth chattered and my fingers went numb until the sun came out to warm them anew. I was constantly being thawed and refrozen. 

My indecision on time of day only further echoed the precarious balance I was on between wanting to live and wanting to die. We were supposed to have perished days ago, and every second that we continued to live Alexandrine grew more furious. Her rage culminated in one of the precious moments of dusk when nothing burned and nothing froze. Before she had calculated the risk of letting her guard slip and allowing things to attack the ship so that we would surely die as she’d intended. Tonight reason left her all together and she insisted that not a soul was to stand against the gulls. 

“If the sea god will not accept our offering, one of the children of the sky is welcome to it.” Alexandrine decided. 

“How can you expect safe passage if you give us to the wrong god ma’am?” I asked. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five.” She answered. 

Her tone lacked the usual angry flare I’d become accustomed to. She must’ve been taking what I’d said into consideration. I hadn’t said it early enough to sway her. When the sun went down and the sky began to fade to an inky black, the captives with spears did not come out on deck. I could feel Alexandrine watching, safe behind the leaded glass windows of the captain’s quarters. 

“Forgive me, Mother Kos.” I said to the open ocean, “I didn’t want to meet you like this.” Fwahe stepped on my foot again, she really did hate any kind of prayer. I tried to ignore it and continue my last words but it didn’t seem worth the effort. The only person around to hear them was going to die alongside me. How could I hope to be allowed into the god’s realm if I had a Vileblood chained to me. It was better I be condemned to a fiery death below then bring her above. If I was given the choice I would not save her again, I’d condemn the both of us. 

We watched the gulls come in. I thought they were clouds at first, or I was just sort of willing them to be clouds rather than the harbingers of our demise. The carrion crows that lingered around Yharnam had never been an enemy I’d had trouble with, but now their maritime brethren were going to get the last laugh. As they came close we could hear them cawing, exchanging battle plans with one another and trying to reserve the tastiest parts of us for their own stomachs. 

“I guess this is it then.” I said. 

Fwahe rolled her eyes, the gold one sparkling in an unsettling circle as it made its motion. 

“Seems about right.” I concluded with a nervous gulp. 

I could see them as individuals now each a slightly different brand of ugly and deranged from his brothers. One of them was missing a considerable portion of its left wing. Several had missing eyes which I could only attribute to the throwing accuracy of the Prestwick’s captive hunters. They went for the eyes a lot. 

They began to circle. I tried to count them as they made their circuits overhead; screeching their delight down onto the deck. They probably couldn’t remember the last time they came this close to a meal, unless these sort of sacrifices were commonplace. There might even be some honor in being torn apart by crows if it meant the rest got to survive. They had done their best to help us. There wasn’t one resource amongst the dozens of them that would’ve been of real use but they’d tried all the same. I wished I had gotten to thank them. 

I had never been one for betting before, but now I placed a thousand wagers. Which of the gulls were going to attack first, which would lead the charge, which would land the final blow. They wheeled above us, swirling around again and again. 

I wanted them to just go ahead and dive already. 

I wanted them to keep wheeling forever. 

Why wouldn’t they just get it over with? 

Why couldn’t they just stay up there forever? 

Everything went without an answer. Fwahe stared them down, hoping her malicious glare would keep them from tearing her apart. We both knew it wouldn’t. I started to pray again. It wasn’t because I wanted something to save us, I really wasn’t sure that I did. It was just something to do, something to pass a few seconds so that my heart wouldn’t beat out of my chest. Of course the Vileblood protested but if we were going to get torn apart my crows a few bruised toes wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

Just as I was finishing the final verse of my third prayer of the evening the first gull came down at us. They had looked relatively small from a distance but as the creature came shrieking towards me it turned out to be larger than the crows I’d seen back home. If it had made a nest in the incense burners I’d helped put up over Yharnam, the beast would only be able to lay one egg before running out of room. They hadn’t seemed so big on the Searider Falcon. 

The first one came for me. It’s enormous webbed feet boasted hooked claws which made a swipe at my chest. I tried to lean back and avoid it, cumbersome shoes slipping across the deck uselessly. It got a scratch in, enough to put the fear of gulls in me, before flapping away to rejoin its pack. They didn’t come down all at once but continued to pick at us with measured caution. Fwahe actually managed to deter one of the gulls that tried to peck her eyes out by catching it’s wing. The feathers only dropped into her hand for a second but she locked around them pressing all her strength into the creature until a bone snapped. It screeched and flew off quickly, despite its new lop-sided gait. 

We didn’t watch it go. We didn’t watch any of them anymore, trying to keep our heads down. It was a long shot but we thought it might be enough to preserve our vision. I suffered more of the crows attacks then she did. Biting through a gull’s leg had made her quite the intimidating piece of prey. They started to use her as a perch to better get at me. She took scratches from their claws while I got blows from their beaks. I was running out of energy to fight back, and the creatures could sense it. They stopped returning to their circling after their strikes. They found purchase on the railings and the riggings, locating spots from which to launch their attacks. It wouldn’t be long now. 

But death hadn’t come for me that night. Just as the gulls were really starting to break through to things that were vital, the kraken returned. Its slippery limbs wrapped themselves around the deck, weaving through the rigging. The ones that landed on the gulls, smothered the enormous birds. I was overwrought with nausea and pain but I gave up a small grin. Maybe Kos was listening. 

As the kraken began to gain a hold on the ship, Alexandrine had no choice but to send out her army. Its limbs threatened to crack the glass and split the timber that composed her cabin and she simply would not allow that. Alexandrine was not as fond of the Reckoning as Captain Roshin had been of the Searider, but she would prefer not to see a Prestwick asset destroyed. Our sacrifice was in vain if the Reckoning never made it across the Black Salt Sea. The gulls had done their damage and she could count on them to come again. 

The lines of practiced fighters sallied forth to get their blood. They were able to loosen the kraken’s hold in seconds, but they took advantage of every second they had on deck. 455692, the same girl who had snuck us water, stepped out of leading her line to try and stop our wounds from bleeding. She couldn’t do much more than press cloth into them and try to stem the flow. It wasn’t long before she was called back into the battle, but she had done all she could. I wanted to ask her real name but in the commotion of the fighting it would’ve gone unheard. Better that orders were clearly heard then formalities exchanged. I vowed to ask her if I was given another chance. 

I made up my mind that morning that I preferred the day to the night. I wouldn’t question it again. I reveled in the burning sun and scalding cuffs. I had been given one more day. 

This rapture only lasted for a few seconds. Reality set in pretty quickly. Being stretched as far as your limbs can go while having open and in all likelihood very infected wounds is not a pleasurable experience. Feathers left behind by the gulls itched my neck. No matter what I did, I couldn’t seem to shake them out of my clothes and had to endure the irritation. I also began to worry about the Vileblood. I had spent the early morning leaking blood. Even if she was still satisfied from her last meal, thirst had to be there. She could’ve wanted to eat like I’d wanted to pray- just for a change of pace. The leather strap and siderite chains didn’t seem like enough. 

“This day will be your last.” Officer Billing snarled. He came by every morning to check the restraints. Today he had the additional task of mopping up blood. Soap and water mixed with rusty flakes of dried blood before they were pushed into the sea. If the kraken was following us, it might have gotten a taste of me. I’d prefer to taste terrible, but I don’t imagine it had a very discerning palette. 

“You said that yesterday.” Salter laughed. He trailed behind Billings carrying the bucket of soapy water. Billings threw a punch at him, but even with his ankles cuffed together Salter rolled out of the way. He moved with speed and dexterity enough for any hunter. “And I bet you’ll say it again tomorrow. Long live prisoner Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five!” 

His call was echoed by the other captives working on deck. “Long live prisoner Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five!” 

“It’s Kohso.” I muttered uselessly. Salter knew my name, but I imagine he got beat all the worse for using it. 

He darted out of my sight, but I could hear his chains rattling as Billings chased him around the deck. He must have been doing pretty well, other officers were called in. The nimble apprentice sprinted past us. His eyelashes fluttered, pausing briefly in another wink. “They all want me.” 

I laughed, though it hurt my chest tremendously. As the officers thundered past he took to the rigging. He might’ve been able to get away from them once again if Billings hadn’t leapt up and caught him by the chain. Salter lost his grip and was flung down onto the deck. He wasn’t able to get his bearings before the officers got to him. I was glad I couldn’t see the aftermath of what happened, but I could hear it. The harsh packing sounds of fist slamming into skin were punctuated by the sharp snap of breaking bones. Everything was routinely interrupted by screams and gasps, the knee jerk reactions of experiencing pain. The Powder Keg apprentice didn’t go beyond screaming, he didn’t beg to be spared or pleas for anyone to stop. He didn’t apologize. 

When the sun reached its peak in the sky, Alexandrine came to visit. She stood in front of us, admiring her handiwork. I was certainly no basket of roses. I was covered over in dried blood, fresh sweat and torn clothing. There wasn’t a thing about me that was presentable, and she seemed to delight in every disheveled inch. There was no way for me to hide the wounds from the gulls. There were scratches on my shoulders and chunks missing from my chest. The birds had laid out their dots last night, and if they could connect them this evening I wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“You seem to have won the love of my prisoners, Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five.” She greeted me. 

If I could’ve managed a shrug I would’ve given her one, but I couldn’t. I didn’t say anything. She slapped me again, but compared to the gulls it didn’t feel like anything. 

“Not talkative today are we?” Alexandrine asked. 

“No ma’am.” I replied. 

“I have to hand it to you, the both of you for resilience. We knew that Twenty-Four Eighty-Six Nineteen could last awhile, but you have surprised us all. The church boys we had sacrificed in the past were quick to abandon their faith when faced with the reality of death, but you were prepared to pray right up until the end. It’s admirable.” She complimented me. 

“I thought I might curry all the favors I can,” I replied, “I don’t think being chained to a Vileblood will end well for me in the afterlife, ma’am.” 

She nodded, “You’re probably right little Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five, but that’s just the way it’s going to have to end for you. You really will have to die tonight, I don’t care if it’s by the beasts or the gods or my own hands, but you understand I can’t have incidents like what occurred on deck today. I would love to let you wait it out and have your noble end and righteous sacrifice, truly I would, but you’ve become too much of a risk.” 

I didn’t reply to that either. I was happy to be causing problems for her but I didn’t need her to know it. It was a mischievous sort of delight, not the sort of thing you were supposed to revel in. I didn’t know why I let that concern me still, the appropriate and inappropriate varieties of happiness. Sister Veera’s lectures on them were familiar to me, and I suppose in a distant sense Alexandrine’s severity echoed the nuns. 

She cleared her throat. “If the both of you don’t die being ripped apart by gulls, I’ll let my officers take care of you before morning. If I were you I’d hope for the gulls to take me. Billings has unusual tastes, and I rarely allow him the opportunity to satisfy them. He’s never been able to destroy anyone as close to purity as you Fifteen Eighty-One Ninety-Five, so I’d try and make myself look real appetizing to that flock of murderous birds if I were you.” 

“Yes ma’am.” I replied. 

“Glad we’ve established that. Enjoy your last afternoon, sorry it’s been such a strenuous journey. You weren’t supposed to last this long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” I said again, hoping it would shoo her away. 

She reached out a gloved hand and gave me a pat on the head. I couldn’t decide whether it was meant as an honest gesture or a condescending power play. She disappeared before I could get a good look at her expression. 

Officer Billings hung around us for the rest of the day. He kept himself within our line of sight whenever he could. He ate his lunch on a barrel by the railing, noisily crunching through an apple and a few pieces of hard tack. The rations didn’t seem especially extravagant, but it was clear he was trying to torment us with the knowledge that he had food and we didn’t. 

Eating was the furthest thing from my mind. The faintest scent of stew or cooked meats made me dizzy. After watching the gulls gulp down pieces of my own flesh I’d lost the taste for anything. My stomach still growled but I had no intention of filling it. Alexandrine could sit me down at another banquet and I’d decline every offer of food. Billings’ attempt also did nothing to resonate with Fwahe who neither cared for human food nor seemed particularly hungry. Despite all this he seemed to think himself pretty clever and continued to flaunt whatever advantages he had over us. He paraded his rationed bottle of alcohol past me, which did nothing to tempt me in the slightest. I had never tasted it before, having always been told that a drunk hunter be it on blood or something more traditional was something to be wary of. There was no law in the church preventing its consumption but almost to a man we did not ingest it. Head Vicar Lanthem had been opposed to it and confided in me that he hoped I would not succumb to the life of a drunkard; he had fears enough for Eros. Eager to please him, I assured him that I would never touch the stuff. I kept my promise, even now when it seems the only reason for his teachings was to preserve me pure enough to die. 

There was no way for Billings to wave the things I wanted in front of me. He could not produce Yilmarie, and then deny me conversation with him. He wouldn’t have thought to retrieve my hunter’s badges and taunt me with them, nor somehow find a way to make medical care a dangling carrot. Alexandrine wanted to die, but had only managed to make me suffer. Billings wanted to make me suffer, but was going to carry out orders to kill me instead, if the gulls weren’t able. 

His failed attempts would’ve been hilarious if there’d been someone to laugh at them with. I hated to confess to it but I missed Fwahe’s insults. At least they were something. At least she was on my side, and I was on hers. I hated it, and had no choice where I was placed in the matter but we were the only two prisoners chained to the ship. I despised every fiber of her being, but I understood her current position. 

Night fell before I wanted it to, and it seemed it was going to be a stormy one. The clouds gathered, silent witnesses to my demise. A distance off we could see rain, but the wind hadn’t carried the storm close enough for it to hit us. The curtain of falling water approached us from afar, a distant wall that grew ever nearer. The clouds concealed the gulls, there was no telling when they would come. Billings gave a dark chuckle before he sauntered off to watch from the safety of some secret place where the beasts couldn’t get at him. The feathers from last night still itched. I didn’t want to carry that to the grave. 

“Hey Fwahe?” I asked. 

She turned her head so that I could see and raised an eyebrow. 

“There’s a gulls’ feather down the back of my shirt, do you think you can reach it?” 

She rolled her eyes, but it was clear she was as bored of waiting for death as I was. The Vileblood adjusted her stance and stretched her left fingers as far as they would go. I titled towards her, but even with our combined efforts the feather might as well have been miles away. It wasn’t coming lose any time soon. She withdrew and I thanked her, even though we hadn’t accomplished anything. 

From behind the strap of leather she was trying to say something. It was all a jumble of sounds that didn’t make sense. 

“I can’t hear you.” I told her. 

She rolled her eyes again. 

After a few moments more we could hear the rain. It hit the sea like so many tiny cannonballs, splashing down onto the rippling surface. When the curtain of approaching storm was close enough to the edge of the ship to make contact I heard the rain making an impact. It was like someone was throwing rocks down from the heavens. 

Someone was. Hailstones ravaged us from above, pelting exposed wounds and exposed skins. There was no way to take cover from them. They crashed on us as the sky began to boil overhead. One force met with another, and the battle of the cosmos began. Mortals can only see flickers of it, the lighting flash of swords and shields or the thunderous pounding of tilt after tilt with the swords. Whatever gods were fighting there must have been something gravely wrong. I’d never seen the sky the way it was that night. 

Fwahe tried to talk to me again. The trapped words were even harder to hear with the clicking each hailstone made as it hit the deck. 

“I can’t hear you!” I shouted back. 

At the beginning of a storm the hope of it passing by quickly is something to hold on to. If you were out on the hunt you found some place to take cover and with any luck you could finish your job with a half hour’s delay and nothing more. This was no Yharnam rain shower. As the clouds moved above us, an undulating mass of shades of grey the sea began to swirl. The waves changed patterns completely, the ocean was whisked into a whirlpool like one of the gods had leaned down, dropped in a lump of sugar and began to stir her tea. Our ship’s course began to change. Rather than continuing forward I felt it tilt, leaning slightly to one side as it began to curve into the growing maelstrom. 

The first flash of lightning touched down in the center of the whirlpool. In the brief second of eye-shocking blue and white I could see how deep the vortex was, how far down we were about to go. Things had gotten serious enough to stir up the crew. Chains of prisoners were hauled along after officers. Billings himself was shouting about the helm. We could hear the ship’s wheel spinning out of control. Several of the chain lines took to the rigging, climbing their way up the slick ropes and damp wooden poles all while being pelted by the hailstones. Several of them scooped up the larger pieces of frozen water and once they were high enough hurled them down at the officers. No one would be able to incriminate them for their small acts of retaliation, but all the hailstones in the world wouldn’t be able to overthrow the crew of the Reckoning. They were going to need something a lot more powerful. 

Sails were tied down and let out, the white canvas constantly adjusting according to a series of sea-faring wisdom that I didn’t understand. None of it seemed to be helping. The whirlpool had caught us too early. Their fighting didn’t make any difference. We continued to circle the eye, making our first circuit with ever increasing speed. The further down we went the more the ship leaned over. It wasn’t long before Fwahe and I could feel sea spray kicked up from below us. The world had changed; we were now lying flat looking at the surface of the water instead of standing upright. It was hard to make sense of things. 

Another flash of lightning came down. This one struck the mast, setting crackling fire to the damp timbers. The wood splintered and started to snap. I heard the thumping sound of bodies and the clatter of chains as an entire line went down, dropping off from the mast. The fire started to spread, eating up the sails and starting on the ropes. Everything crashed into chaos. Officers tried to pile into the life boats ready to take their chance and try and escape. Some just jumped overboard. The doors above and below decks were constantly opening and closing, people deciding to leave or stay and then changing their minds. 

Alexandrine was desperately trying to regain control. She shouted orders and ran from one end of the deck to the other. Her clicking heels blended in almost perfectly with the hail. No amount of running or screaming did her any good. Roshin had captivated the loyalty of her crew, while Alexandrine had tried to buy hers. Money didn’t do you any good if you were dead, and even a dimwit like Billings was smart enough to see that. She was useless. 

“Help!” I shouted uselessly, drowned out by everything else. No one was going to bother to think of us at a time like this. The thunder covered up every one of my calls. 

There was another fantastic flash of lighting, this one streaking towards Fwahe and me. It stabbed like a sword composed of broken fragments, extremely sporadic yet effective. It struck the cuffs between our wrists, shattering one of the links of chain. It also sent a world-shattering shock through me. I felt like someone had turned my body to glass, and then smashed it. 

Fwahe was already reveling in her half formed freedom by the time I’d put myself back together. She had wrenched the leather strap from her mouth and hurled it into the sea. 

“What are we going to do?” I asked her. 

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, getting back the feel for it before she smiled. “Church boy, I hope you’ve prayed to your gods be-“ 

Her sentence was never finished. While I’d been grappling with the pain of electrocution the steady downfall of the ship hadn’t stopped. The water lapped at our chests. The boat hovered for a moment, completely balanced. The hull was above us and the burning sails below. All it took was another half degree of rotation, another half inch of descent, and the Reckoning was thrown off balance. Turned over itself we were plunged into the icy water. I was dimly aware of crates and barrels and people falling all around me. 

I lost all sense of direction as the chilling salt water streamed into my nose eyes and mouth. It was as bad as it had been when the kraken had taken me over the side. I couldn’t even try and swim. I closed my eyes. They stung with salt. Everything was so cold. 

Nothing looked like it had when I met Kos in my dreams. There was no peaceful floating. The bottom of the sea surely didn’t sparkle with diamonds. There was no light to be seen anywhere. The flames from the lighting had fizzled out and the water was a dark mass that only got darker the deeper you went. If I became cold enough I’d go numb and the sea could have me. It would be painless. It would be easy. I couldn’t fight it anyways. We were still secured to the sinking wreckage. Everything was going to just fade away and be done. 

That was until my lungs started to burn. There was no way to be peaceful when you can’t get a breath in. It screams through every muscle, every vein. Every physical part of you begging for breath. My eyes shot open. 

I wasn’t staring into an impossibly black ocean anymore. I was face to eye with the kraken, it’s enormous yellow eye as big as my entire body. It shoved away the sea and swiped a tentacle at me, ready to take back the prey it had lost. It hit me so hard, all the pain went away. The darkness returned. 

I couldn’t feel a thing. 

When I opened my eyes again I was on the sandy shore of a beach. My neck still itched, and the bruises I’d taken from the hail ached. I wished I had perished in better condition. Despite all the wounds I’d carried over I was eager to get a look at this new place, the world beyond. I wondered who I might meet, and whether or not I’d find my parents waiting for me somewhere. If not the two of them then maybe Eros. He didn’t have the cleanest track record but none could deny he’d died a hunter’s death. Someone had to honor him for that. 

I got to my feet and started inland. I took one step before falling face first into the sand. Looking over my shoulder I saw that my right ankle was still chained to the Vileblood’s. She was awake and laughing at me. I was going to be stuck with her for an eternity. I was going to need to find a leather strap. 

“Where do you think you’re going, church boy? Going to pray to the sand gods now?” Fwahe chuckled. 

I pushed myself back up, brushing sand off myself and groaning when I saw how many of the grains had embedded themselves in my wounds. “I guess I’m stuck with you forever now.” I muttered. “I should be burning. You should be burning. You shouldn’t have made it here. I saw you eat three children!” 

“You know where we are?” She asked. 

“Of course I know where we are.” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. A coating of dandruff, dirt and other unpleasant particles stuck to my palm afterwards, “We died last night. This is the world beyond, the realm of the Gods, and I’m going to be stuck with you for all eternity.” 

I expected the Vileblood to be equally horrified but instead she burst out laughing. “You’re not dead church boy.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked, “The ship went down. I looked into the eye of the kraken. We were drowning.” 

“Yes we were.” She agreed, “But that kraken’s tentacles smashed everything up, including the Prestwick bitch. It squashed her like a bug. It managed to break just about everything, except the cuff that’s still got you joined to me. I had to drag you along behind me.” 

“I’m still alive?” I asked. 

“Regrettably.” Fwahe replied, “Now it’s going to be harder to cut off your foot.” 

“You’re not cutting off anything!” I said. I gave myself a more thorough inspection now that I knew there was a chance of my condition improving. We both still wore cuffs on our wrists and ankles, like bracelets. There was no way of getting them off. There was a sizeable length of chain dragging from my left wrist. I was finally able to reach up and scratch at the feather, still lodged in the same place at the base of my neck. 

My nails felt great on the back of my neck, chipping off pieces of flaking skin while seeking the main aggressor. I located the feather and gave it a tug. My skin prickled, but the feather didn’t come loose. I got a better grip on it, squeezing through the fluff and locking around the central spine. I yanked at it with all my strength. 

I screamed in unexpected pain. Looking down at the feather I noticed two things that were seriously wrong. The first thing was that my nails had grown back, and not just little half-moon silvers that could be dismissed. They’d been clipped no more than three days ago but now they were sharp points, slightly curved like a wolf’s. They were more claws then nails. 

The second thing was the blood. The feather I held in my hand had blood at the tip of its spine that was fresh and shouldn’t have been there. I reached to the back of my neck again. My fingertips brushed more feathers. The tips came away red. I was bleeding. I’d pulled that feather not out of the back out of my neck but out of my skin. 

Horrified I threw it down on the sand. I kicked a clump of damp sludge over it until I couldn’t see it any more. I dusted the blood off on the remains of my Prestwick-issued clothes. I tore them further, fabric caught on the little hooks where my trimmed nails should have been. 

“Are you sure we’re not dead?” I asked Fwahe. 

She stood up. “Yes.” 

Nothing could have destroyed me more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	10. 10. Constricted Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yilmarie decides to take destiny into his own hands, but he doesn't have the strongest grip.
> 
>  
> 
> A Gentle Warning  
> (There is a mention of people in the same bed with one another, but no descriptions of anything explicit. )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think!

I didn’t want to go back to the notebook. Whatever they were doing to Crane, there would be no way to stop it in Caryll’s pages. The door was locked from the outside, and no amount of tampering from my end was going to get it to pop free. Doctor Lee was also smart enough to post a guard. I wouldn’t be let out until she was good and ready. 

I did what any person would do for the first hour of my quarantine. I sat on the floor and cried my eyes out. It didn’t fix anything and it left my nose running for the rest of the day, but it’s one of those things I just have to do so I can move on. Once I’ve cried I can stop feeling so goddamn sorry for myself. I let the sleeves of my robe coat with snot that solidified and crusted. I’d brush it away when I had the luxury of worrying about maintaining appearances. 

I was one of the luckiest captives in the world, to have a science lab at my disposal. If I couldn’t figure my way out of this one, then I deserved to be trapped here forever. There was no one I could trust here. Additionally, if I was going to save Kohso and Crane and prevent the Choir from wrecking any more havoc I was going to need some distance. Screw whoever came up with the adage about keeping your enemies close. Your enemies should be kept as far away as possible. 

I couldn’t run by myself. Going into unfamiliar territory and facing possible beast attacks alone was just stupid. I’d need to take Izaius with me and depending on condition Crane too. I didn’t trust Odette enough, but I would steal her notebook before we left. I could translate her symbols along the way and find the path to Moonside Lake. One thing was for sure, the Choir would never find me there. It would be safe to work there until I could find a way to stop Doctor Lee. If there was a way to bring about the true form of the Godschild then I would find a way to prevent it. I would destroy that thing forever. 

But first I had to get out of this room. Any hunter worth a lick of salt could put together a few rudimentary explosives. I knew how to make a few different kinds, although they weren’t my specialty. I had ended up with more chemical burns then successes. And there was the guard on the other side of the door to consider. Doctor Lee might’ve been comfortable murdering people for the sake of a giant slug but I wasn’t. 

I made a careful inspection of the door. The wood was heavy, solid stuff with a decent varnish that was probably going to be more trouble to burn through then it was worth. By the time there was a big enough hole for me to climb through the enemy would be able to counter attack. Any hope of victory depended on speed. Speed, and stealth, if it could be managed. Nothing could be blown up. There were no back exits or windows to escape out of. 

Everyone thinks too big when trying to escape a room, but looking at the door was all I had to do. Although the wood was well-maintained the hinges weren’t as strong as they used to be. All it took was a few slightly modified surgical tools and the correct application of force. I popped out both hinge pins and gave the door a push. It fell outward. I met the stunned eyes of Doctor Lee’s posted guard for a half a second before running for the door. The long robes of the Choir were hardly ideal for sprinting. As I ducked into the hall I considered cutting them for greater speed. 

The halls were bustling. I didn’t need to get through them quickly, I just needed to blend in. For the first time since my arrival I was overjoyed that everyone looked the same. I grabbed a mask off one of the students. Before she could shout at me it was over my face and I had merged with another group of passing students. I heard shouts from Doctor Lee’s office but I didn’t look back. I kept walking with the groups, breaking up and merging with others as I needed to. I kept an eye out for Izaius, if I could spot him while walking familiar halls that would be ideal. 

My eyes strained one way while my feet carried me another. There wasn’t enough time to make a good sweep of the rooms and maintain appearances. At every lecture room door I passed I risked a sideways glance. Some were wide open and I could get a sense of the whole room. Others were shut and I was only afforded a few seconds peek through a narrow window. I checked the front rows when my options and time were limited. His red jacket should’ve stood out and made him easy to spot and seemed like he preferred to stay near the lecturer when he had the option. Everything came up empty. I was dumped from the hallway to the front door. The crowd I had camouflaged myself with evaporated. They broke up, some bracing the cold night while others took to the staircases, climbing towards rooms I was unaware of. I ducked away from the entrance and took a second to turn my options over. 

I had a much greater chance of becoming lost if I went back out into Yhar’Gul. It was clear I’d need a guide, and no one was going to volunteer to be my escort considering my current standings. The stairs then. I would have to take to the upper levels and hope for the best. They were a great steep swirling snaking monster of stairs, wide enough that six people could stand shoulder to shoulder and comfortably climb them. The polished wood was slick and the rounded edges of the stairs tripped me up several times, but I kept going. 

The building was several floors high, but I turned off the staircase the first chance I got. I would do this methodically, floor by floor. If I tried to work my way down from the top floor I was certain I’d lose count or skip something by accident. Mistakes were the kind of luxury I had ceased to afford the second I went digging into other people’s business. 

The second floor turned out to be much the same as the first. There were lecture rooms and storage cabinets. The flow of students was slightly reduced but still fairly brisk. The floors were a little less dirty, the drawers a bit more organized, but that was understandable. Dirt could be pushed below far easier than flung above. I traversed the hall twice, once down the left hand side and then turned and came back up the right. I still clung to groups or walked beside lone students. No one gave me a second glance, even when I stopped to crane into the classrooms. The students of the Choir focused on their lessons with rapt attention, never glancing towards the door or looking up to check the time. Their eyes stayed glued to the instructors, who in turn gave the class their full attention. 

If only this place wasn’t built on top of chained children. If I hadn’t been paired with a deranged doctor and tasked with impossible translations, I might have been able to find my place. Whoever took me from Hemwick Charnel Lane should’ve taken me to the Choir instead of the church. I might’ve had gained some kind of appreciation that way. 

That just wasn’t how the world had planned things for me, and lingering on past possibilities I wouldn’t be able to move forward. I swallowed the speculation and continued my search. I could hear the commotion of the scholars searching for me, and after the first sweep of the floor decided that Izaius was decidedly not on this floor. The third floor was very different then the first two. The whole floor was joined together, nothing was broken into separate rooms. Every spare inch of the floor was covered in bunk beds, nearly made and stacked three on top of each other. Choir novices read books, or passed notes back and forth. The room was filled with the sound of shuffling cards, hushed conversations and turning pages. 

There was white everywhere. The choir robes, though most had cast them off hung on bed posts or were draped across storage trunks. The sheets were white, the walls were white and my face paled at the sight of it. Everything blurred together in a dizzying sameness. I numbly started to walk between the beds, sliding through the narrow alleyways left between the bunks. My robe caught on several stray items. I stumbled over a pair of boots that peeked out from under a bed. I received apologies at every turn but waved them off to the best of my ability. 

Almost no one wore their masks here. Most seemed to leave them sitting on their pillows, the pointed black caps a sharp contrast to the white linens. Everything was black and white without a splash of color. The rooms were kept as neat and sterile as Doctor Lee’s main room. It wouldn’t take them long to realize I had no place here The opposite side of the room kept coming closer and closer to me, a sure sign that I did not own any of the beds in the room. 

Just as I was about to abandon my hopes for this floor and continue onto the next I caught a flash of red. Skidding to a stop I changed my direction and hurried after it. I had to take a bit of a leap over a series of novices playing marbles in one of the crossroads. They looked up at me but I just kept storming past, dimly aware of the fact that every hurried step blew my cover all the more. 

“Izaius!” I shouted. 

His eyes met mine the second the words had been loosed from my lips. The flash of red I’d seen was indeed his jacket. He was in the process of folding his clothes and had only briefly waved it in the air to clear out the wrinkles but it had been enough to get a heading. He was on the topmost bunk of the stack of three, but the second he saw me rushing towards him began to come down. I reached his bedside the same instant he reached the floor. 

“Yilmarie I-“ 

“There’s no time.” I cut him off, “Please, please you have to trust me. We’ve got to go, there’s something I need you to help me get.” 

He only hesitated for a second before hopping back up onto the ladder, grabbing his cap and jacket and taking the lead. 

“There’s a back door. This way.” He said before placing the fabric and metal over his face to hide his worry. 

Every part of my body was tense as we passed through the bunks, waiting for one of the marble playing novices to grab me by the shoulder and demand to know what my problem was. No one said anything. They stood aside to let us pass, Izaius red vest was the only communication we needed with them. 

The side wall was dominated by a huge window. One of the glass panels had a small iron handle to one side of it. Izaius wrapped his fingers around it, pushing it out and down then twisting it to one side to pop the glass out. We stepped out onto an iron balcony, not wholly unlike the fire escapes scattered throughout Yharnam. Izaius started down a ladder and I followed after him, pulling the window closed behind me. 

“Are they going to-“ 

“No.” Izaius said, “They’re used to me coming out here.” 

We continued down until we were in an alleyway. I couldn’t see very far in front of me but Izaius’ white robes stood out from the darkness. 

“Where are we headed?” He asked. 

“Odette’s tower.” I said. 

“I really don’t think we-“ 

“No. I don’t need her advice; she has a book I need. We have to steal it.” I said, “I know she’s your instructor and all but-“ 

“No, it’s fine.” Izaius said taking a left turn down into another alleyway. This one was only slightly larger than the previous. “I don’t trust her, but I do trust you. If there’s something that you need we shall procure it, Good Brother Yilmarie.” 

“Thank you.” I said. 

“But of course.” He said, “Did you find out what happened to Good Brother Crane?” 

I debated hiding the truth. I could technically get by with saying I didn’t really know what had become of him. Doctor Lee was doing something alright, something Crane didn’t want. It was the specifics that were a little harder to pin down. 

“I’m not sure.” I said, “I tried to stop her but it was too late. She had him down on a table and she did not fancy me coming in. She tried to trap me in the workroom but I escaped. They’re all after me, a ton of them and I have to get away.” 

Izaius stopped dead in his tracks. He put a hand over my shoulder and pulled me into a sideways embrace. He kept me close as we continued, the side of the narrow alley scraping his shoulder and knuckles. It was a space far too small for two people to walk beside each other but he did it anyway. 

“She isn’t just trying to perform any routine procedure.” I continued, “She’s not a normal doctor…I should’ve told you this when I found out but there’s…she’s…” 

“She’s keeping a bunch of children locked beneath the city and feeding them to a giant monster?” Izaius asked. 

My jaw dropped and I ducked away from his arm. We started at each other, my eyes were wide with shock. He probably couldn’t see them because of the mask but the sense of surprise didn’t escape either of us. “How did you know?” 

“I’ve known for a while.” He said, tapping his foot and waiting for the opportunity to continue past me. 

“And you didn’t do anything about it?” I asked, planting my feet and preventing his passage. 

“What was I supposed to do?” He asked “You haven’t done anything to stop it either.” 

“I just got here! How long have you known about this for?” 

My shouts echoed through the alley bouncing from one side to the other. Izaius held a finger over his mask, where the lips would be. “Quiet.” 

“No!” I growled. I was going to continue but beyond that simple word I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I was still held, tightly paralyzed in the grips of shock. 

“Come on, we can’t stand around splitting hairs.” Izaius said, “At least let us talk and walk Good Brother Yilmarie.” 

“Enough with the good brothering.” I said, but turned aside so he could continue leading me away from the scholar’s building. “Tell me how you found out!” 

“Can’t we do this later?” Izaius asked. 

“Not a chance.” I said. 

He sighed, “Fine. That story I told you about a Vileblood killing my father and my uncles might not have been exactly one hundred percent accurate.” 

He quickened his pace, it seemed more due to nervousness than anything else. I had to take a few extra steps to close the distance and even then it was a struggle to match him. He was hoping some of his words would get lost, but my ears were well accustomed to catching snatches of conversation. Not a single syllable slipped by. 

“I didn’t want you to blame me for the sins of my fathers.” Izaius began, “He wasn’t a glorified choir hunter, he was a common drunk. When the hunt started the only change was from alcohol to blood. His brains started to spoil from the cocktails he was mixing up. They led him to make reckless decisions, always on the hunt for more. No matter how much he killed it was never enough. He became desensitized to it…he had taken so much.” 

“Did he turn?” I asked. 

Izaius shook his head, “No. He saw all of his friends corrupting. He pulled his brother, one of my two uncles down with him. The two of them would get drunk and hunt bricktrolls together. There’s something in our family’s bloodline that seems to resist the effects of excess blood consumption. I don’t think any of us could become infected if we wanted to.” 

“That’s kind of amazing.” I said. 

“It wasn’t for my father. After he tired of common blood he began to become a beast anyway, hunting down nuns and priests for the special Saint’s Blood they were capable of producing. He slaughtered them for it.” Izaius explained, “But when even that became too docile he went to Cainhurst. He ignored the warnings of the Executioners and found the exiled queen. He begged the Vilebloods to turn him into one of them so he could once again enjoy the pleasures of blood.” 

He paused briefly at the next crossroads. He looked down at his feet then made a right turn. Even with the masks obscuring it, he kept his gaze from mine, focusing on the path ahead. 

“She agreed. He corrupted his blood until it ran as cold as quicksilver. His skin went cold and tough, and he drank to the glory of Cainhurst.” Izaius said. He kicked a rock down the alley to punctuate his distaste for the forbidden castle. “He hadn’t bothered to take the uncle he’d pulled into the dregs of madness with him. The sickened one begged the only sane relative we had left to come away with him. He agreed, heading to Cainhurst with the full intent of murdering my father. That’s exactly what he did. He was so determined to banish the blemish on our family line he’d devoted his whole life to stopping blood drunk hunters. He’d taken me in when my father had left, but hadn’t been able to arrange plans for my supervision before my sickly uncle dragged him away.” 

Another turn and the alleyway opened up. We were on the main streets now, far too exposed for my liking. There still wasn’t a single beast to be seen. We started to climb the stairs and he continued his story. 

“I was quickly picked up by the Prestwick Company. They were looking for any children who they could sell off to people like Doctor Lee.” 

He had dropped a lot of his politeness. There was no good put in front of that doctor. I was relieved, she didn’t deserve it. He continued, “I still remember the face of the men who came for me. One had grey hair and eyes full of fear, he didn’t seem like he really wanted to be doing this, but there was a man standing over him and barking orders. That man had a cane and he used it to push people around, so neither me nor the scared Prestwick could resist him. His eyes were black and cold. I’d never seen black eyes before.” 

“So you ended up…” 

“I ended up sold from one madman to a madwoman. I was chained in a basement, terrified of the Godschild. It took a really long time and all of my wits but I managed to convince her that I was worth preserving because of my blood. I had to go through a series of tests to verify this. Professor Southill was one of the people who advocated against this. Her books had no record of any blood like mine and I was nearly sacrificed to the Godschild right then and there on accounts of fabrication. Doctor Lee was curious though, and her tests showed different results then Odette’s books. So long as I kept giving it to the Choir I was allowed to be one of their wards. I would have to study and hunt and devote my whole life to them, but at least then I wouldn’t have to live in the basement.” 

“Shit.” I said. 

He nodded. 

His voice quivered as he ended his story. Izaius reached under his mask several times, and I could only guess that he was wiping away a tear or two. I made no mention. We walked across a bridge in complete silence. I was worried that if I breathed too loud it was going to be too much for him and he might break down altogether. I was relying on him to get me through this, I shouldn’t have started prying in the first place. 

But I couldn’t stop. “What happened with your uncles?” 

“He came so close.” Izaius sighed, “As soon as I was established as a Choir novice I was able to use the Messengers to contact him. He had made it to Cainhurst, the journey did wonders to sober up his brother. There was no hope for my father who was blood-crazed and had become one of the most prized Cainhurst knights of the time. He was trying to court one of Queen Annalise’s prized huntresses and really cement himself into the noble lineage. My recovering uncle was the kind of temptation he couldn’t resist, and he went after him. My father killed the one uncle, but was slain by the remainder. The girl who had only held my father in contempt was somehow tasked with cleaning up after him.” 

I put my arm around his shoulder. He didn’t have to give me the specifics, I could draw my conclusions pretty easily from that. 

He swallowed his sadness anyway and finished his story, “And so Good Brother Yilmarie, that Vileblood killed my uncle. I didn’t know him very well but he had tried his best to keep our family from growing a bad name. I heard about his murder from an Executioner who was kind enough to send back a note, although he had failed to slay the Vileblood responsible. He said he was nearly killed himself, but he had managed to catch sight of her. The Executioner’s report said she had one blue eye and one golden one. Whomever she might be I’ve vowed to vanquish her and restore whatever honor I can to my family.” 

“I’m sorry.” I said, “I didn’t mean to accuse you-“ 

He lifted up his mask to give me a smile, “Nothing to apologize for Good Brother Yilmarie. I would’ve been a little suspect of myself if I were in your shoes. I’ve worked very hard to put on the airs of a perfect Choir novice. I can’t let on that I know what I know.” 

“Of course.” I said, “I won’t tell a soul.” 

“You won’t have the option to, since we are running away after all.” 

“We?” 

He took me by the hand and led on, “We.” 

Under my Choir mask I went bright red. I was glad he couldn’t see. The timing was completely wrong. Once my head came down from the clouds we were climbing the stairs to Odette’s room. I could hear her and Minimus long before I was close enough to see them. I looked over at Izaius and he gave me a shrug before continuing on. If they were both in there stealing this book was going to be a lot more then I’d bargained for. 

“What’s our plan?” Izaius whispered stopping a few stairs from the top. 

“Well, originally my plan was for them to not be there at all.” I admitted, “I’m working on a new one.” 

He nodded and began to rummage through the pockets of his robes. Between us, supplies were fairly limited. I had grabbed a few things from the workroom that would serve in the place of throwing knives. Izaius had real knives of his own along with some blood vials, a wax candle stub and a roll of gauze. They were hardly the ingredients for a master plan. 

“I don’t know that there’s much we can do with these.” I sighed. 

Izaius picked up his knives. The rubies at the end of their handles twinkled. “There’s always these.” 

I shook my head, “Nobody has to die.” 

“I meant if worse came to worse.” Izaius qualified, “I wouldn’t use them unless I had to.” 

“Of course not.” I said, “I didn’t mean that you would.” 

“Did you want to try and sneak in?” Izaius asked, “One of us on their own might be able to manage it, considering they’re preoccupied. It would have to be you though; I don’t know which book you’re after.” 

It was the only thing worth trying. I gave him a nod and started to remove anything that might hold me back. The cap had to go. I cut the choir robes down to a manageable size, slicing off the sleeves and billowing back coat. Whatever couldn’t afford to be cut was tucked and tied. I took off my boots, the clicking heels could be as much a giveaway as anything else. It was the best we could do. I accepted one of Izaius’ knives, tucking it into my belt. There were no sleeves for concealment, I was openly carrying it now. This was the first time I could recall doing so. 

Izaius titled up his mask, once more exposing his smile. He drew his lips together and before I had the chance to realize what he was doing he had given me a kiss on the cheek. 

“For luck.” He assured me. 

“Thanks.” I muttered back before hurriedly ducking into the corridor. I tried to shake the strangely affectionate well wishes from my head and focus on navigating the hallway. It was just as it had been the first time, layered with carpets and strung up with crystals. Even though they were a good way above me I ducked my head lest one decide to rattle. If nothing else I was certain I knew the way, there was nowhere to go but into the bed chamber. 

I did not wish to go there. The sounds of the both of them only got louder the nearer I drew. I should’ve been thankful that they themselves were providing cover for any noise I would’ve made, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. It was nauseating. 

They had left their door wide open. I wouldn’t have to worry about any clicking handles or creaking wood. The room was lit by candles, hundreds of them. It looked like they were about to hold a church service the way they’d gathered them on every surface they could. Wax piled on the windowsills, over the desks and even took up a few choice positions on the floor. When I was close enough that being sighted was a concern I dropped down to my fingertips and toes. No amount of clever tying and tricks would change the color of my robes, which reflected the candle light too brightly even now. 

Across the minefield of possible sightings was the bookshelf. I would have to start there and hope I could recognize the tome by its spine alone. All I had to do was make one wrong move, take the wrong book or shift something too much and an avalanche of paper would give away my position. I took a deep breath and started crawling across the floor. Odette’s collection of carpets made things a lot easier. My progress was slow but constant. I took everything one step at a time. 

I hadn’t even realized I’d reached the far side of the room until my forehead tapped the bottom of the bookshelf. I tensed, worried that I’d rattled an inkwell or shifted a page. There wasn’t a sound beyond the creaking of the bed. Slowly I rose to a crouch, looking at the bed the whole way. There was nothing but a mass of writhing blankets. I couldn’t determine which end held heads and which held feet. Either way I didn’t lock eyes with anyone. When I was a comfortable height to work from I chanced several glances at the bookshelf. It was packed to bursting with numerous volumes. I tried to remember in exact detail the book Odette had translated from. Details I’d been so sure of before began to blur, and I started to second-guess myself. 

Time was passing, the longer I stayed the more danger we were in. The people searching for me could burst in any moment. Indecision would not be the end of me. I made my choice, locking thin fingers around thick binding. Every small tug threatened to shake the shelf. One of the candle’s flames lapped dangerously close to burning my arm as I strained for the book. I bit down on my lower lip, and let the flame do its damage while I pried the tome from its position. The weight of it took me by surprise, and I nearly dropped it once it had sprung free. I took several steps backward to catch myself. 

The bed’s creaking stopped. I dropped back to my hands and knees. The sound my eyelashes made when I blinked was too loud. It thundered in my ears like crashing waves. I heard blankets shifting. 

“What is it?” Odette asked. 

“I thought…I thought I heard something.” Minimus muttered. 

There were sounds of kissing. In another context I could’ve gagged or laughed about it, but this was deadly serious. If Odette couldn’t get him to give it up, I’d be discovered the second they peeked beyond the foot of their bed. 

“There’s no one here but us.” She assured him. 

“I’m just going to get up and check.” He said. 

She let out a whine. There was the sound of another kiss. I tried to scuttle back to the safety of the doorway, but Minimus could move much faster. He saw me. I saw him. He wasn’t wearing anything, hadn’t even taken a blanket to cover himself with. We locked eyes. I ran. 

I was out of the door and thundering down the stairs before he processed what had just happened. I heard an infuriated shouting of my name as Izaius and I sprinted to freedom. 

“Did you get it?” Izaius asked as we took to the streets. 

I glanced down at the book in my hands. “Yes. This is the right one.” I confirmed. I was hardly sure of it myself, but there wasn’t time to double check. Minimus would be after us just as soon as he’d gotten his skivvies back on. 

“Don’t worry.” Izaius said, “I’ll get us out of here.” 

“Us?” I asked. 

“I’m not leaving you.” Izaius said. 

Out feet pounded across the empty cobblestones. We hadn’t passed by any other hunting parties but I was sure that kind of luck wouldn’t last. Izaius dragged me down a small side street. As we raced down it the fine brickwork faded to gravel and then to dirt. As we disappeared into the stalls of a stable, I caught a glance down the street. Lights were starting to pop up in the windows. The noises of a chase were waking the denizens. There were bells, Hunter’s bells clanging in the air. 

They were summoning additional hunters. The Choir was calling everyone they could in to help. There’d be people looking for us who we’d never seen and the white robes of the Choir wouldn’t give them away. As soon as they brought out the bells, you were a wanted man. They might as well have been tolling your death. I shivered. 

Izaius looked up from his work. He had been hitching up stolen saddles to soon-to-be-stolen horses. “Don’t worry about them.” He said, “They’ll never catch us.” 

“But they can track us.” I said, “Surely if we take horses they’ll track us, and we can’t run forever.” 

“Neither can they.” Izaius said, “And so long as we are well ahead that’ll be enough. I’ve roamed with the Choir for a long time. They won’t have noticed I’ve gone and they’ll waste time searching for you, thinking you’re hidden somewhere.” 

He could be right, but I didn’t count on us being so lucky. “They’ll know as soon as they see two horses sprinting through town.” 

“Who said anything about sprinting?” Izaius asked. 

He led over two horses. One of them was a dusty yellow color, the other rusty brown. They both wore saddles, but they were also hitched to a small hay cart. Izaius had donned an old stable blanket and a dusty trodden top hat that looked like it had been squashed by a horse’s hoof. When he hunched his shoulders and contorted his face into a bit of a snarl he looked like any other farmer down on his luck. Even with the disguise he’d seem a little suspicious hauling hay in the night, but there wasn’t going to be a better option. 

He took five precious minutes off our head start to make sure everything was secured properly. The two of us worked to hide me inside of the hay, piling the itchy strands on top of me until I was completely concealed. Izaius climbed into the driver’s seat and clicked his tongue. The two horses started off down the path and I clutched fistfuls of hay, hoping no one would give us a second glance. The wheels of the cart bounced up and down on the packed earth. I felt every rock and stone, fearing that each would dislodge a key piece of camouflage and I’d be exposed. In all my years as a novice I’d never felt this anxious. Lanthem screaming in my face had nothing on the terror of escaping. 

I hadn’t thought about the old Vicar since coming to Yhar’Gul. He might have actually been trying to warn me about the things I was running from. No one could take a warning seriously when it was spat in their face, I didn’t blame myself for ignoring his words. He’d been involved in those letters too, those fateful pieces of parchment that had started all the suspicions. The High Octave had plans for Kohso, and it wasn’t entirely impossible to guess they could consist of feeding him to the Godschild. Wherever he was, surely it was safer than if he’d come here. There wouldn’t have been enough room for the both of us in the hay cart. He would’ve saved me instead of himself in that kind of situation. Every sermon about self-sacrifice Kohso represented in perfect example. 

“I hope you’re safe.” I whispered. 

I said it so quietly I couldn’t hear the words myself. There was no way anyone outside could’ve heard them. Still I worried. Still I found my whole body tensing, imprisoned by mistakes I might have made. The cart rattled on, slowly shaking me back to life and assuring me I hadn’t blown my own cover. I’d shoved the two books into my robes, Caryll’s and Odette’s. With so much time on the run I didn’t know when I’d get the opportunity to translate them. 

The desire to ask where we were burned harsher than the candle’s flame had. I swallowed it down every time. If I were to reveal my position now it could come at the worst time. I had to stay silent and trust Izaius. He had said us. He had said we. We were running away together, he had already helped me escape from the Choir, leaving behind the life he knew. He had no reason to be loyal to them. 

In reality he had no reason to be loyal to me either, but there had been the flower. The carnation and the kiss, signs his affections ran a little deeper. One before he had agreed to one, and one after. His feelings hadn’t fluctuated, so neither would my resolve. 

No one stopped us. 

After a swirling stint in the timeless realm of anxiety, Izaius brought the cart to a stop. “You can come out now.” 

I shook the hay off of my hand. He offered me a hand and I climbed out into the frigid night air. I was beginning to regret slicing the sleeves off of my uniform. I could faintly make out the spiraling towers and bridges of Yhar’Gul behind us. We were safe from the city. I didn’t hear the pealing of any bells. 

“Are you cold?” Izaius asked. 

“No.” I lied. 

He shrugged off his jacket and offered it to me. I began to protest, so he draped it over my shoulders. I shuffled myself into it a few seconds later. It was still warm from Izaius’ use. The sleeves were long enough to cover my palms and I turned up the collar to cover my ears. 

“Can’t have you turning blue on me.” Izaius chuckled, adjusting the blanket from the stable around me. We sat together on the seat of the hay cart. He lit a fire in his hunter’s lantern and we warmed our fingers around it. 

“I suppose we have to keep moving.” I said. 

He nodded, “Sorry. I’m sure it would be easier if we knew where we were going, but we can’t afford to lose the time it would take you to translate everything. Not that I doubt your speed or the ability of course.” 

“Of course not.” I said. I flipped open the cover of Odette’s book thumbing through the pages. There was a piece of red paper hanging out of one end. I turned to the page it had marked and was delighted to find the same map that had produced the sigil of Moonside Lake, “But this might help.” 

I held the lantern while he studied the page, trailing his finger along one of the rivers. When I looked at his face he had broken into a grin. It was nice to see him smile with his whole face, and not just the mouth below the mask. The gesture was more complete when you could see his cheeks rise and push his bottom eyelids halfway to closing. His whole face was the portrait of delight that I’d only seen sketched before. Full color blew them away. 

“This will work just fine.” He said. 

“You’ve been there?” I asked. 

He shook his head, “No, but it’s easy enough to read the map. I’ve passed that river before. It runs past Byrgenwerth College. That’s it’s symbol here.” 

Izaius pointed to another one of the flag banners on the map. “I was considering an extended study program there, but no one would sign off on it. My blood had to stay with the Choir.” 

“I’m surprised they let you out at all.” I said. 

He shrugged and gave the reigns a shake. The horses got the cart moving once more and we adjusted our course due west. The world was colder outside of the hay. Izaius and I took turns holding the reigns, exchanging them for the lanterns when our fingers couldn’t take the cold any more. There hadn’t been time to grab gloves. The sounds of the city were far behind us, but the woods vented their own strange symphonies to make up for it. Owls screeched, twigs cracked and leaves shuffled. Periodically one of the horses’ heads would shoot up and it would take a few seconds and sniff the air. Izaius never rushed them along, and the interruptions were starting to become more frequent. 

“Why not just give a click and get it going again?” I asked when the dusty yellow one’s ears pricked up at the sound of a branch scratching against the side of the cart. 

“Some animals are better at sensing things.” Izaius shrugged, “We’re not in any kind of immediate rush and there’s a chance there’s beasts in these woods. If the horse gives us a heads up it might be stupid to ignore it.” 

“It was just a branch.” I argued. 

“There’s also no reason to tire them out.” He said, “I’m sure they need a rest but we’ve got to keep going. I can’t begrudge them a moment to catch their breath. If we were walking, we wouldn’t have gotten half as far.” 

“That’s true.” I said, before passing him the lantern. “It’s my turn.” 

When he handed me the reigns I waited until the horse put his head down before clicking my tongue and carrying on. The night wore on and became more oppressive. My throat and mind seemed to dry up, I couldn’t think of something to talk about. Despite the danger that hung over us like an oppressive storm I was starting to grow tired. I had done a lot of running today and it was catching up with me. 

“I wish we’d brought Calliban along.” I muttered. 

“What’s that?” Izaius asked. 

“I said I’d wish we brought Callie with us.” I repeated. “Her stories would have helped…move things along, I guess.” 

He chuckled, “Getting tired?” 

“A little.” I admitted. 

“Well I might not be as experienced as she is but I’ve heard every tale of Hari Harel there is. If you’d like I could relate my favorite to you. I’m afraid you’ll have to endure it without voices and impressions.” Izaius offered. 

“That’s fine.” I said. 

“Alright then.” Izaius said. 

He took his time getting ready. First he adjusted his seating position, pulling his legs up from the foot rest and settling them on the bench. He fiddled with the stable blanket until it was wrapped around both his knees. Every time it shifted the blanket wafted its mix of scents into the air; the light tint of fresh hay, an overpowering cloud of stable animals and a hint of city smoke. It wasn’t a particularly clean smell, nothing they’d put into a candle, but there was a unique kind of comfort too it. 

“Like I said, I’m no professional.” He warned. 

“Oh just get on with it!” I begged him. 

“Very well Good Brother Yilmarie. This story is another of the one hundred and one lessons Hari Harel learned while he was wandering the world. I cannot recall whether it was lesson sixty-seven or seventy-six but it was one of those two.” 

The number of the lesson couldn’t have affected the quality of the story, but I could tell from the strain on his face that he wanted to get it right. Izaius didn’t weave his words with the practiced ease of Calliban, but labored over every sentence. He thought about exactly what he wanted to say and checked his facts before speaking. As a result, the story moved very slowly, and I had to constantly remind myself that he was doing his best. I did all I could to hide my impatience. 

“By now Hari Harel had mastered all of the hunter’s weapons. He knew that there was a good deal to be gained from blood ministration, but a good deal to lose if one wasn’t careful with their dosages. He had made several friends and several enemies. He had fought beasts after every fashion and was beginning to think of himself rather highly. Back in the streets of Yharnam he hadn’t had a lot to be proud of, but now there were towns he had saved. Sometimes when he got into a city people knew who he was and were very kind to him. 

Ivaday-Avaday was one of these people, though not what he appeared to be. It was said, though many accounts differ that Ivaday-Avaday was dressed as a priest and when Hari Harel came to his town he invited the hunter to stay with him. He wore stiff black robes with a pointed black hood that hid his face, despite the heat of high summer. Hari Harel had been in many churches, but even he was struck by the grandeur of this particular church. Enormous sculptures were piled along the stairway, depicting brave hunters cowering in front of towering beasts. Tapestries with similar subject material covered the walls. Several portraits of several priests were dappled in between altars to various gods. Even Ivaday-Avaday’s Messengers were clad in fine clothes, held together by thread spun from quicksilver. 

“Blimey.” Said Hari Harel, “Nice place you got here.” 

It contrasted horribly with the city it stood in. The church was shiny and new, while the townspeople lived in crumbling hovels. The hungry dogs that prowled the streets for scraps were wire thin, but Ivaday-Avaday had two fine dogs with sleek coats and healthy builds. As Ivaday-Avaday was entertaining Hari Harel he spared no expense. A great banquet was prepared, but the priest and the hunter were the only two in attendance. The table was dripping with fat purple grapes, huge wheels of yellow cheese and baskets of sweet rolls. 

“Blimey.” Said Hari Harel, “There’s enough to feed the whole town.” 

“Indeed there iss.” The priest returned, “Your appetite is well known.” 

Hari Harel felt a little guilty eating so much in such a beautiful place when there was nothing but crumbling ruins outside. He was grateful he’d only seen the starving dogs in the street and hadn’t passed by any starving people. Hari Harel couldn’t comprehend how the city could be so strained while the generous priest was readily providing him with everything he could want. 

“Is your town in any trouble sir?” Hari Harel asked. 

Ivaday-Avaday chuckled, popping a grape into his mouth. “Of coursse not Hari Harel, why would you think ssuch thingss?” 

“I have been through a lot of towns.” Hari Harel said, “But I’ve never seen dogs as thin as the ones outside.” 

“You needn’t worry about them.” Ivaday-Avaday assured him, “Their ownerss will take care of them.” But Hari Harel was not convinced. 

“I have been through a lot of towns.” He said, “But I’ve never seen buildings as run down as the ones outside.” 

“You needn’t worry about them.” Ivaday-Avaday assured him, “Their ownerss will take care of them.” 

But Hari Harel was not convinced. 

“I have been through a lot of towns.” He said, “But I’ve never seen denizens as shy as yours. I came through the gates and walked through the streets, but saw no one.” 

“Of course not.” Ivaday-Avaday said, “They are all ssafe in here with me. No one venturess out during the night. They are quite comfortable I promisse you. You don’t hear any complaintss do you?” Hari Harel put his hands too his ears and strained to listen. He heard the sound of a knife scraping butter on to bread, this came from the priest’s hands. He heard the sound of tapping, this came from Ivaday-Avaday’s feet. As hard as he tried to hear something the only thing that made any noise was the priest in front of him. 

“You must be right.” Hari Harel concluded, “For I’ve strained my own ears as hard as I can and heard not a single complaint.” 

“Then all iss well.” Ivaday-Avaday said. 

Hari Harel nodded. He continued to eat until even his great stomach was full. Ivaday-Avaday encouraged him to eat even beyond fullness. Hari Harel took down entire cheese wheels, reduced baskets of bread to crumbs and gobbled enough grapes that in a week his stomach would be nothing but wine. He didn’t stop until the table was completely empty. Ivaday-Avaday had never seen anyone finish an entire table of food before. 

The priest invited him to stay for the night, and he eagerly agreed. The food he’d eaten was making him drowsy, and despite his desire to hunt and help the town he’d come to, the draw of a feather bed was too much for him to resist. He was taken past the confessionals and into the priest’s quarters. 

“Oh this isn’t necessary.” Hari Harel protested, “I’d be fine sleeping with the other denizens.” 

“Nonssensse.” Ivaday-Avaday cried, “I inssisst.” 

He placed his hand on Hari Harel’s back and guided him into the room. Hari Harel resisted at first but he was charmed by the soft sheets and fluffy pillows. His previous battles had left him weary and Ivaday-Avaday was offering him the luxury of a good night’s sleep. It was impossible to refuse. 

Hari Harel settled down under several layers of blankets. Ivaday-Avaday blew out the candle on his way out of the room and wished the hunter sweet dreams. Now of course the priest had plans of his own, and they may very well have come to fruition if it hadn’t been for the great appetite of Hari Harel. He had eaten far more than his fill at dinner, but as he slept time passed and he began to grow hungry once more. He reasoned that since the priest had been so forthcoming with food, a midnight snack surely wouldn’t be missed. 

Hari Harel crept through the church on his way to the kitchen. He passed by the tapestries, glancing up into the faces of cloth-woven beasts, their mouths full of embroidered bodies. The bottom of each tapestry was a monument to the blood and gore they left behind, talented seamstresses had given the viscera tremendous color. The statues were worse. Several times Hari Harel jumped when he passed by their shadows, startled by the sudden appearance of another human. 

He couldn’t believe how realistically they’d been captured. Every stitch in their clothes and hair on their heads was rendered in perfect detail. Some cowered while others were on the attack. Hari Harel was not a great lover of art, but he could tell there was something special about these sculptures. He observed them with greater interest until the sounds of crunching and grinding filled his ears. He suspected these noises must come from a kitchen. Hari Harel followed them, getting lost several times due to the cavernous nature of the church and how it carried around echoing through the archways. What Hari Harel found, was this; Ivaday-Avaday was bent over a bucket stirring something, in a room that was quite obviously not a kitchen. 

“Blimey.” Hari Harel said, “You’re up awful late.” 

Ivaday-Avaday’s face whipped around to see who had intruded. 

Hari Harel jumped back in fear, for when the priest’s head turned his neck seemed to curve with it. It stretched and undulated like the snakes Hari Harel had come up against long ago in the forbidden woods. 

“I could ssaay the ssame about you.” Ivaday-Avaday replied. 

Hari Harel began to leave the room, retreating back into the church. Ivaday-Avaday followed. With the light of the moon shining in through the door Hari Harel caught glimpses of the priest’s true form, for he had used his robes to conceal the most fiendish parts of his anatomy. The robe concealed the coiled up lengths of his neck, which were a horrifying combination of snake scales and human flesh. The pointed hood had hidden his face, keeping Hari Harel from seeing his slitted eyes and fanged teeth. 

“Blimey.” Hari Harel said, “Think there’s something wrong with your neck sir.” 

Ivaday-Avaday lunged for him, but Hari Harel was quick and made a dash for the door. Ivaday-Avaday blocked his path. Hari Harel was forced to retreat back into the room, tipping over the bucket the priest had been stirring. Half-cured concrete spilled onto the cobblestones. 

Ivaday-Avaday charged through it as Hari Harel backed further into his workshop. He passed paralyzed corpses, held captive in the grip of fear by snake’s venom. Some of their bodies were drained of blood. Others were in the process of being coated with concrete. Hari Harel had found out where the sculptures were coming from. 

All night this continued, they ran around and around the workshop until Ivaday-Avaday was stuck in his own concrete. He couldn’t move, and even with his neck stretched to its limits was unable to sink his fangs into the hunter. Hari Harel gathered his things, and bade the priest’s dogs to come along with him. They became Beckoner and Belle, two of his most trusted companions. 

He set fire to the church, and left the town behind with the screams of Ivaday-Avaday filling the night in his wake. From that day forward Hari Harel promised to bring ruin to those who would use their position and power to corrupt others. It was right then and there that he decided to begin the journey home to Yharnam and make sure it hadn’t fallen into the clutches of anyone like the snake-priest.” 

“Well that will certainly keep me awake awhile.” I said. 

“I didn’t scare you did I?” He asked. 

“Not really.” I admitted, “But you told it well. I was just trying to picture Lanthem turning into a snake and it was kind of funny.” 

Izaius smiled, “Yeah I don’t think that fangs would really suit him.” 

“Might make his sermons more interesting though.” We both broke into laughter after that. The still night was broken up with the noise we made, even the horses seemed a little calmer to hear us so at ease. 

We took turns sleeping, leaning on each other’s shoulders despite not meaning to. I found a way to hold both the lantern and the reigns while Izaius was asleep. He was the first to succumb to exhaustion. I couldn’t blame him, I had a lot more to lose if we were caught. I hadn’t returned the knife he’d given me and I was glad for the loan of it. Nothing had attacked us thus far but there was no assurance that the level of safety would continue. I tried not to let my guard drop, but as time dragged on it became harder. 

Wine red dawn was the first change from the endless layers of black and blue. At night the world was a bruise. It was a relief to see the colors returning. I woke my traveling companion up and we switched off. I woke up when the sun was fully in the sky and Izaius had brought the cart to a stop. The place we’d stopped in looked like a scene from a painting. A calm stream burbled past us. The horses grazed on mouthfuls of grass, still green despite the lateness of the season. I climbed down from the driver’s seat and felt the warm earth between my toes, boots momentarily cast aside. 

“Didn’t wake you did I?” 

Izaius stepped into view from behind a cluster of pine trees. His arms were heavy with fallen branches and twigs. 

I shook my head, “No. Sorry I slept so long.” 

“I should be the one apologizing. I hadn’t meant to pass out on you last night.” He said setting the branches down. They joined another, slightly larger pile of kindling. 

“That’s alright.” I promised him, “It was easy enough to just keep following the river, and nothing came at us.” 

“We’re very lucky.” Izaius agreed. I was once more caught in a thousand horrible moments of not knowing what to say. He seemed to sense this, “I think we ought to leave the cart behind at this point. The woods are getting too thick for it; do you think you can unhitch the horses?” 

I nodded and looked over my task. It hadn’t seemed particularly complicated when Izaius had fastened everything together but now that I was in charge the cart seemed as complicated as one of Caryll’s ciphers. While the Choir novice constructed a small fire I rattled lynch pins and untied knots. The horses didn’t seem very fond of me. Initially they shied away and stamped their hooves when I came too close. I was a little fearful of them as a result but in time we came to understand each other. After much puzzling I unhitched the cart and tied the horses’ leads to a nearby falling log. They shook their manes and pranced about happy to be free of the cumbersome cart. 

Izaius’ fire was crackling merrily. He sat on a nearby rock and cleaned several fish, slicing away the scales with one of his knives. 

“Won’t the smoke give us away?” I asked. 

“We have to eat.” Izaius argued, “I didn’t bring any travel rations.” 

I hadn’t brought any either so I nodded and sat beside him. Opening both books I seized the moment and began to puzzle out translations. While he burnt the fish black I tested my wits against Caryll’s and by some extension Odette’s. 

“Find anything useful?” Izaius asked. 

I looked up from the books to find him burning his fingers on the roasted fish. He pushed them off their roasting spit and onto flat rocks from the streambed. Routinely he popped one of his fingers into his mouth or shook it wildly in the air to chase the heat away. Flakes of white fish began to pile up on the stones. 

“Not really.” I admitted. “Most of what I thought might be useful is just her opinions of the old Byrgenwerth founders. It seems like she might’ve been alive at the same time, though the founders would’ve been very old.” 

He passed me a rock piled with fish. “Astonishing how the affairs of the past continue to effect the future.” 

I took a bite of the fish. It was too hot to tell what it tasted like and I felt the taste buds burn off the tip of my tongue. I swallowed it down and set the stone on my knee, waiting for the rest of my meal to cool. 

“I could care less about that. Thinking Master Willem was a bit of a snob is all well and good, but sometimes this notebook reads more like a diary than anything else. It’s impossible to see which parts are going to be useful before I translate them.” I lamented. 

Izaius gave me a reassuring pat on the back, “You’ll figure it out.” 

He stamped out the fire as soon as he’d salvaged all the fish that he could. The uneaten heads, scales and fins were scraped into the river. We couldn’t erase all the signs that we’d been there, yet still we made the effort. The hay cart would be our biggest giveaway. If anyone managed to track us this far it wouldn’t take a clever man to find it. We concealed it with pine boughs, which might buy us a few minutes in the grand scheme of things. I didn’t think it was worth it but the Choir novice preferred to be extremely thorough. 

“I haven’t done much riding before.” I said, looking up at the two horses. 

I hadn’t done any riding before. How were you supposed to learn horseback riding in a place like Yharnam? Our streets weren’t wide like the Yhar’Gul walkways. Everything was narrow and crammed together. The farms that surrounded our town were places I’d never ventured and our church didn’t have any kind of standing cavalry. There were very few stables throughout the city, most denizens preferring to get wherever they needed to on foot. It was cheaper and easier. The gentlemen and ladies who insisted on carriage rides soon regretted it, inexperienced carriage men struggling with spooked horses and crowded streets. 

“It’s not difficult.” Izaius assured me. “Just speak softly, make sure you don’t do anything to sudden and keep calm. Everything else will come with practice.” 

Between the two horses Izaius gave me the yellow one. He had to help boost me onto it and then the horse was mad at me because I’d pulled its mane too hard while trying to get on top of it. Izaius stroked its neck and scratched its ears until the animal settled down. We got used to each other, and the Choir novice had a much easier time mounting his horse then I had. He’d taken the task of pack mule as well, wrapping up all of our supplies with stable blanket and attaching it to his saddle with the roll of gauze. Neither of us were confident it would hold for very long, but we’d just have to keep moving. 

The horses seemed happier without the cart, and the brief rest they had seemed to have been enough to keep them from complaint. I doubted we’d be able to travel for full days and nights without wearing them out entirely. I had to rely on Izaius’ intuition for this rather than my own assumptions. He knew the horses better than me. 

“What are we going to do come nightfall?” I asked. 

“There’s a town up ahead if you want to chance it.” Izaius replied, “Maybe an hour and a half away. We could try and conceal ourselves nearby but it’s a roll of the dice. There could be beasts, or nosy citizens.” 

“How far to the lake?” I asked. 

“It’s going to be at least another two days, and that’s if we don’t encounter anything that slows us down or wounds one of the horses.” Izaius assessed. 

“Can they keep going for that long?” I asked. 

“Not a chance.” He replied. 

The both of us weighed the risks of stopping on our own scales in our own heads. Izaius’ horse set the pace. I saw a few mile markers for the town, but before the moon had risen we were past it. It felt wrong to stop and sleep, but we’d need it. We needed a lot more time than we were getting. Our entire journey would be useless without Caryll’s book translated. I tried to work on it while I rode but I couldn’t juggle the reigns and the two books at the same time. I would end up making mistakes, and they were sure to cost us more time then they’d ever gain us. Better to do it right the first time through. 

I was thankful we had left the hay cart behind. The woods were becoming too thick to travel side by side. I dropped back behind Izaius. Routinely our backs were tickled by branches and low-hanging leaves. Even though I was the one with the lantern I couldn’t see very far to any side of me. It was dark above and dark below. 

The crunching of horses’ hooves on dead leaves started to become white noise, fading out until it wasn’t really a sound anymore. I didn’t hear the sound of anything that wasn’t the clatter of our supplies or the snorts from our mounts until the moon rose. They were distant at first, so soft and small that I didn’t think they were anything more than my own mind. 

But then Izaius turned around to look at me. The sounds were loud enough that he could hear them too, which was solid proof I hadn’t imagined them. He clicked his heels against his horse and we started to go through the woods a lot faster. My own horse matched the pace. I clung to the reigns, tense as anything as we thundered in between the trees. Our pursuers weren’t going to let us get away so easily. They sped after us, announcing their advance with a cacophony of tinkling bells. 

“I thought you said a head start would be enough!” I shouted to Izaius 

“I thought it would be!” Izaius called back. I heard a twinge of panic in his voice. He drove his horse even faster. “I’m sorry!” 

I wasn’t mad at him but there wasn’t time for a heart to heart. Despite having served as farm animals all their lives and having traveled a great distance our horses leapt into the chase with as much vigor and speed as I could’ve dreamed. Their hooves all but burned the ground and left clouds of smoke in their wake. 

A glance over my shoulder showed the approaching force. I’d never seen Choir hunters out for blood but it was quite a sight to behold. Everything was silver and white, from their delicate horses to their weapons. The line of them that I could see carried silver bowblades; a vicious convertible weapon that went from bow and arrow to longsword in a few simple clicks. It was one of the very best trick weapons the Powder Kegs had managed to manufacture. Bowblades were incredibly expensive, and even Vicar Lanthem had his troubles getting ahold of some. Their robes stood out like fresh fallen snow in the darkening twilight, paler then the coats of their horses. Their mounts had shining silver armor and many of the Choir members were wearing silver breast plates and armored boots. All of them wore the Choir caps, effortlessly ducking and leaning their heads to avoid snagging branches. I had no idea how they were able to see them. 

They made no effort to hide themselves. If this hadn’t been painfully obvious from the garb they wore they made their intentions clear with ornate strings of silver bells. Every one of the Choir member’s horses was dripping with strings and strings of hunter’s bells. They jangled on silk ribbons as the agents of death thundered towards us. 

“Do you think they can see us?” Izaius asked. 

I was sure they could see us. “Definitely!” I shouted back. 

“Douse the light!” He commanded. 

The candle was out the second he finished his sentence. We were bathed in darkness, but the approaching hunters shone with light. Izaius did his best to throw them off course, taking sharp turns and plunging into and across the river several times. In stunning displays of horsemanship, the Choir hunters negated our efforts entirely. They could cut their horses charge and turn them so suddenly I was amazed they didn’t fall from their saddles. Our horses had to cross the creek by charging through the water. Their steeds leapt nimbly over it, crossing from bank to bank in a single bound. 

They were gaining on us. I watched as the lead hunter drew back his arm. The string of his bowblade sparkled in the night. The arrow that streaked by us hardly made a sound. He had missed, but only just. It was an incredible testament to his accuracy to have come so close. 

“We can’t outrun them!” Izaius shouted steering his horse out of the water and weaving between the gnarled trees. 

“We can’t let them catch us!” I argued. 

Another silver arrow was loosed, this one thudding into a tree trunk inches away from my ear. They were closing in on us. 

“Do you trust me?” Izaius asked. 

“Yes!” I shouted back, “But I hardly see how that’s relevant!” 

He wheeled his horse around once more, nearly colliding with me. He had turned it towards the approaching enemy. We raced back towards them side by side. I was about to ask him just what the fuck he thought he was doing when he leaned over and shoved me off my horse. I hit the ground with a thud. 

“Izaius what in Kos’ name-“ 

“Shhh!” Izaius yelled. “Stay down!” 

Lying flat next to a clump of tall grass and foul smelling mud I watched the Choir hunter’s confusion. Our horses charged into them, scattering the hunters in a frenzy of whinnying mares and rearing stallions. The Choir regained its composure in a matter of seconds before turning around wrong ways and going back towards Yhar’Ghul. 

It wasn’t until the last hunter’s bell had completely faded from my ears I even dared to look up. Izaius was a few feet away from me, clutching the stable blanket in one hand. We just lay there, eyes locked on each other while we processed everything that had just happened. 

“We’re alive.” Izaius said. 

“We’re alive.” I confirmed. 

He got to his feet and slung the sack over his shoulder. The contents jostled and we both cringed at the noise. He offered me a hand and I took it. I didn’t let go as we continued, giving the river a wide berth but never straying so far as to lose the sound of it. 

“I think we lost them.” Izaius said after we had gone a decent distance from the spot of impact. I could only measure the length in how tired my feet were. They hadn’t yet begun to scream at me, so it couldn’t have been more than a mile. 

“Oh really?” asked a voice that was certainly not mine but certainly not unknown to me. 

Both of us turned to look over our shoulders. We couldn’t see anything in the layer upon layer of murky blackness. I squinted at the twisted tree roots in case someone was concealed inside of them. Izaius scanned the branches above in case anyone was tracking us from on high. Neither of us were able to locate the speaker. I knew that voice though, I had heard its mockery nearly all my life. 

Minimus had been a troublesome novice ever since his arrival at Odeon Chapel. It followed that he would bring me more trouble even beyond its walls. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that the Choir would allow him to be part of the party to hunt me down, but there could be no mistaking it. I didn’t have to see him to know. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” It continued. 

We turned around, facing forwards again. He was circling us; the place his voice came from constantly shifting. He laughed as he watched us. There was hiss and then a light sparked. I saw Minimus, illuminated from beneath by a hunter’s lantern. Never had he seemed so sinister. 

“What do you want?” I asked. 

He laughed, the low pitched chuckle of a vaudeville villain. I hated that laugh. “I want my questions answered you little degenerate. I saw you slinking around Miss Southill’s room while her and I were…engaged, and I want to know why.” 

So he wasn’t even with the Choir brigade he was just on some foolish outing to try and avenge Odette. I breathed a sigh of relief. 

“And I’m going to get my answers.” Minimus assured me. He held a hunter’s bell in his other hand, “Even if I have to call all my friends to make that happen.” 

“Yes, fine good let’s walk as we talk.” I said. 

Minimus shook his head, “Right here suits me just fine. Sit down, get comfortable and explain yourself.” 

None of those things were suggestions. I sat down and Izaius followed my lead. A quick glance showed his face wrinkled and his eyes calculating. He was already working to find us a way out of this one. Even with all he’d gotten us through before the only person I trusted to navigate Minimus’ ego was myself. I gave his hand a squeeze, a silent “don’t worry, I can handle this.” He returned it. 

“You know I would never be stupid enough to betray you.” I started. 

“Cut the crap.” Minimus said, “If you think flattery is going to get you anywhere you’re wrong. You not as clever as you think you are so skip the lies and the dancing around the subject. I know you weren’t in there because you wanted to see a lady’s privates, you were there to steal.” 

“What are you-“ I started 

Minimus thrust the bell forward. He held it flat on his palm so it wouldn’t ring accidently but the threat was clear. 

“Alright.” I agreed, “No bullshit. I needed that book so I took it.” 

“She had already offered to let you use it, why steal it?” Minimus asked. “That’s what I don’t understand.” 

“I’m not interested in working for the Choir anymore.” I replied. 

“And why’s that?” He asked. 

“They didn’t keep their promise to me.” I said, “They didn’t search for Kohso.” 

I wasn’t sure if this was the absolute truth or not. I hadn’t personally witnessed the launching of any search parties but they very well might have done it on the days I was locked in the workroom. It was partially true that I didn’t trust them because of this, but Doctor Lee’s Godschild was much more to blame. If Minimus didn’t already know about the giant slug, there was no reason to tell him now. 

“What do you plan to do with the book?” He asked. 

More lies. I had to be able to think of more lies. 

“Doesn’t matter what he was going to do with it.” Izaius interjected, “We lost it during the chase.” 

“You’re a worse liar then he is.” Minimus sighed shaking his head. “I’ll bet it’s in that sack.” 

“We need it. It’s got a map in it.” I said. 

“So you’re going to Moonside Lake?” Minimus asked. 

“Yes.” We replied in unison. 

“Great, then that’s settled. I’m coming with you.” He declared. 

Before we could ask any questions Minimus headed off into the darkness. Izaius and I exchanged a glance and then shrugged. We followed after him. I was confident a moment would come when one of us would be able to snatch the bell away. Once we took it from him we could get away from the pesky church novice. 

“You know,” Izaius said after we’d walked for several minutes, “We’re actually supposed to be going that way.” 

He pointed over his shoulder and a disgruntled Minimus had to endure snorts of our laughter while he turned around. He might have been lucky enough to find us and piece together our plan, but there was no chance of us being outsmarted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	11. 11. Formal Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will Kohso and Fwahe discover in the Nightmare?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think!

At first I was worried that Fwahe had seen me and noticed the infections’ onset. A quick glance showed she was looking in the other direction, at all the things besides us that had washed up on the beach. There weren’t any bodies nearby, but there were other things from the Reckoning that had come along for the ride. I saw one of the goblets that had been on Alexandrine’s table during our ceremonial last meal. Spikes of timber and torn canvas swayed back and forth, caught in the push and pull of the waves. The sea hadn’t held them long enough to smooth out their edges. 

“Should we look for survivors?” I asked. 

She shrugged. I stood up and started for the water’s edge. The chain ran out before I could take a full step. My foot hovered in the air, waiting for the Vileblood to walk with me. She sat in the sand with no intention of joining me. I put my foot down, and because there was no option but to, I sat next to her. 

“We’re going to have to work together.” I sighed, “We can’t stay on this beach.” 

“Why not?” Fwahe asked. 

“There’s no shelter, there’s no food and I’ll freeze to death before too much longer.” I replied. 

She gave another shrug of the shoulder, “Those sound like your problems, Church Boy, not mine.” 

“Alexandrine wasn’t alone. If word of her death reaches Nicholas, and it’s not impossible someone else survived and that it will; he’s sure to come looking for us. Do you really want to be waiting out in the open on a beach to get captured again?” 

“Then I will be ready to tear off his head.” Fwahe snarled. 

I kicked up a clump of sand with my free foot. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit selfish? There could be a village or something nearby and I kind of have a gaping wound in my chest. I need medical attention.” 

She snorted and turned towards the sea, “I need medical attention. I need clothes. I need food. All I hear is you needing things, Church Boy. You’re the one being selfish. I haven’t asked you for shit. You’ve been awake for all of three seconds and are ordering me around like-“ 

“I just asked you to move! I can get what I need if you’d just scoot three inches down the beach!” I shouted. 

I couldn’t take her anymore. If there was a bonesaw within reach, I seriously would have considered sawing my leg off to be free of her. Siderite cuffs with no key, nothing short of a kraken was going to break those. We’d need a miracle, but if I started to pray for one she’d cut me off. Besides, it was unlikely that any god would see fit to save me twice. Surviving the ship and the gulls was enough, if being infected on an island with a Vileblood was going to be my penance I’d have to endure it, but that didn’t mean I had to obey her wishes. 

Gathering the scraps of my strength together I began to drag her down the beach. She didn’t dig her hands into the sand to try and stop me, she allowed herself to be brought along. It was like trying to get a dog into the tub when it needed to be washed. She was not making things easy. I had to bend down and get my arms around the short chain to heave her the last few steps of the way, but we made it to the water’s edge. 

Shards of shells and tiny sea creatures scratched my feet. I’d lost my shoes during the shipwreck. Fwahe was accustomed to being barefoot; if the storm hadn’t taken her socks she’d cast them aside. The soles of her feet were hardened to whatever poked out of the sand, so I hid my wincing to feign the same. 

I shook the sea foam out of a nearby scrap of canvas then draped it over my shoulders. The residual water and lingering cold soaked through the thin scraps of my uniform. I tied the canvas around my neck reassured it would conceal the infection. I couldn’t do anything about my hands, beyond keeping them curled into fists when not in use. 

“Well now that the old woman’s got her shawl…” Fwahe grumbled, “Is the beachcombing over?” 

I ignored her and looked to both sides. The only viable assets were a few smashed jam jars, but the contents were likely spoiled by slivers of glass and saturated with salt water. No shoes either. Looking out across a mist-shrouded sea I made out the masts of several ships. I watched with cold horror as the fog passed over them. It looked like a whole armada had come after us. 

“F-Fwahe?” I stammered. 

“What?” She growled. 

“Look.” 

I pointed my finger out towards the ocean and she followed it. At first her hand drew back, prepared to slap me across the face. I tensed, but then she squinted and stared. And then she saw them. Her eyes widened just like mine had. 

“Alright church boy, you win. Let’s go.” She said turning on her heels and sprinting inland. I nearly tripped and fell on top of her, she launched into motion so quickly. Her gait was closer to a deer’s then a person’s, she covered distance in long bounds. I was barely able to keep pace when I ran at my full speed. For every one of her strides I had to take three. I was completely out of breath before she’d even broken a sweat. 

The beach was little more than a strip of brackish sand pressed against jagged cliffs and sloping hills covered in dead grass. The strong winds couldn’t stir the sun-bleached blades from their matted mooring. They were as solid as stone. We passed the skeletons of buildings. Something had come through this town before we did, maybe the storm or maybe the plague. Whatever it was it left the land in desolation. Gravel from primitive paths was cast aside into scattered swirls. Rotted wooden roofs had buckled and caved. Everything was coated in water damage, a pox of white-grey barnacles starting to infect the city’s bones. It was choking with silence. I couldn’t stand it. 

“Hang on.” I said digging my heels in and grinding to a halt. 

Fwahe had been mid bound and had to catch herself on one foot. I was worried it would break but she managed to adjust herself in time. 

“What is it?” She snarled. “Make up your mind are we moving or stopping?!” 

“Just…” My voice trailed off. I stepped closer to one of the broken buildings, and the reluctant Vileblood followed in my wake. We still kind of limped along, not fully in sync. She moved too fast, I moved to slow. 

We walked up the strangled stairs of a house. The porch was littered with shards of broken glass. The top of the door was missing and what remained hung crooked on one hinge blowing back and forth, scraping the swollen timber as it went. There was a dusty brown semi-circle embossed into the wood from where it swung. I pushed it open and stepped inside. 

Half of the walls were missing. Broken plates and demolished furniture littered the floor. Fallen pages from fallen books flapped on the ground. Birds with broken wings straining to fly. Signs of uprooted life were strewn across the floor. 

“I don’t think we should be here.” Fwahe said. She started for the door but I pulled against her. 

“Not yet.” I said. I went further in. 

The wood felt too soft. The dining table had cracked in half, but all of the chairs around it still stood. Their cushions were bloated; you could see the rotted stuffing leaking out of tears in the fabric. 

“It smells awful.” Fwahe said as she followed behind me. 

She was right. The whole house reeked of death, everything inside was way past its prime. Whatever corpses were causing it; they must be upstairs. I wasn’t confident it would be able to take our weight. It seemed likely to fall on top of us any minute. 

“Something’s gone wrong.” I said 

“No shit.” She spat back. “But by all means, let’s wait around for whatever it is to come back for us.” 

I shook my head. “You’re right, let’s go.” 

As the Vileblood led us back outside I took a last glance. My eyes caught a pram, tipped on its side. Poking out from the folds of threadbare blankets was the skeletal face of a dead infant. It seemed to still be screaming even as it died. The places where it’s eyes would have been were nothing more than vacuous black holes, but they still seemed to plead. I could almost hear it. A blink and it was a live. Another and it was dead. I couldn’t shake its silent scream, the constant refrain of “please don’t leave me.” 

I took another step for the exit. The echoes got louder. If it wasn’t for Fwahe’s discomfort and swift pace, I might’ve stayed there forever. I felt compelled to pick it up, but she dragged me from the dilapidated house before I had the chance. Being back outside didn’t help at all. With every house we traveled past the stink in the air grew, damp dead bodies. I pressed my canvas covering to my nose with one hand. The scent of sea salt wasn’t enough to banish death’s foul odor. I could smell it woven through everything. 

She slowed her pace on my account, no longer racing along in bounds. We strode side by side trying to lock ourselves into a common gait. There were eight links of chain between us. Eight small metal pieces that represented the maximum distance I was allowed to stray from the monstrosity. Eight small links that caught on everything catchable, tripping us on roots and rocks. Stumbling became another method of travel. My ankle started to bleed before hers did. I would’ve happily accepted the socks she’d carelessly cast aside to serve as a buffer to the unyielding metal. It chipped away at my skin until it was slick with blood. 

I couldn’t think of a worse time for it to happen. I kept a close eye on Fwahe’s face, monitoring her lips and eyes, alert to the slightest change. Her pupils didn’t dilate; she didn’t run her tongue across chapped lips. There wasn’t the slightest indication of hunger. I wasn’t sure that she even knew. She had to know. 

The farther we went the worse it got. I left behind red footprints. The buildings were little more than piles of what they used to be. An entire city of card houses that had been blown over. I was sick from the sight, sick from the smell and soon to be sick from the blood loss. She was tireless, climbing through the wreckage with the ease of a warhorse crossing over bodies. I lingered behind arduously crossing over and around everything. The harder she pushed the slower I got the more I tripped. There was no salvation from her pace. Breath came in clumps, sporadic and precious when I was allowed to have it. She might’ve been crueler then Alexandrine without even realizing it. 

“I need a rest.” I finally managed to spit out. 

She raised an eyebrow at me. Her eyes made a quick dart from my feet to my head before she nodded. She sat down and I came to a stop beside her. I tried to slide the cuff around, moving it slightly up or down to attempt to sooth the wound. It was tender to the touch and stung with soreness whenever my fingers made contact. 

“So fragile.” Fwahe remarked. 

“I’m sorry I’m not an inhuman monster.” I spat back. 

“Not you.” She growled, “I wouldn’t waste my sympathies on a misguided dove.” 

She jerked her neck towards the horizon. We were on one of the hills of dead grass, which sloped down to another expanse of decimated city streets. Fog rolled in, concealing and revealing the desolation in places where the cloud cover was spread too thin. The steeple of a crumbling church, a sloped roof, glimpses of what used to be. It looked more intact than the place we’d come through, but I was sure that once we’d closed the distance it would turn out to be the same. The barnacles just didn’t show from a distance. 

Her eyes weren’t stuck on the village. They looked beyond to the rocky cliffs. The cliffs towered above the town. Wind that shouldn’t be able to shake them, did. We sat and watched boulders, pebbles and other debris routinely plummet down. Sometimes it hit outcroppings or bounced against the trunks of other trees. Other times it fell straight down; the only sound was a massive splash when it hit the sea. Bit by bit the cliffs were crumbling. 

“They’re dying too.” She said. 

“I guess everything does.” I said with a shrug. 

“I’ve never thought about being alive longer than a mountain.” 

“How old are you?” I asked. 

She didn’t reply. For the first time her eyes took stock of my injured ankle. I tried to pull it away from her and conceal it, but her foot came along for the ride. We were regrettably inseparable. Before I could stop her she ripped a section of the canvas off my shoulder and began to shove it in the cuff. 

“What are you..” 

“I am not dragging a corpse along with me.” She said. “Stop bleeding. It’s inconvenient.” 

“Sorry.” I muttered adjusting the cloth. It could just barely fit in against the metal. A thin layer of it began to turn red. It afforded a marginal cushion against the biting siderite. I wrapped the remainder around my foot and tied it off. It was a sorry excuse for a sock but it would have to do until something better could be found. I was in no hurry to loot any houses, but we might have to risk it if things got really bad. 

“Had enough beauty rest, church boy?” Fwahe asked once I’d finished tightening the knot. 

“Suppose.” I said. 

“Good.” Fwahe replied. She pointed to the sky. I followed her finger and saw a splintered sun. Something was deeply wrong with it. The yellow beacon was caught in the web of something. At first I thought it was just an obscure cloud formation, but it didn’t move in the wind. The shape and size of it never wavered. It was as though one of the gods had shot a slingstone into the sky and shattered the sun like you’d shatter a mirror. Greyish green cracks spider-webbed over everything. “It’s going to go down soon.” 

“That’s impossible.” I said, “The sun sets the other direction, to the west.” 

Fwahe wouldn’t be swayed. She pointed once more and sure enough, the overcast sky was tinged with the slightest hint of red. Sunset was coming. I gritted my teeth and dealt with the indignity of being proven wrong by a beast. 

“We don’t have weapons.” She said, “If there’s anything out we won’t be able to outrun it. You’re slow and you’re bleeding. A carrion crow could take down the both of us, if it attacked at the right time.” 

“That village is going to be as ravaged as the last.” I said. “Whatever shelter we can find there it won’t last. Rotting wood won’t make a strong enough barricade if it’s anything big.” 

She nodded. We turned off the path, away from the village and were quickly swallowed up by a forest without leaves. There were none on the ground and none in the trees. Like the houses the forest was only a skeleton. The skinny trunks creaked in the wind, squeaking and screaming when their branches caught against each other. Above was a deeply intertwined network of tangled branches, all interwoven and spread out like veins. The trees had grown into each other. 

Below the ground was spongey. The bone-bleached dead grass was replaced with clumps of moss the color of mustard. In weaker spots the ground would shift and mud would bubble up between our toes. Fwahe was able to keep her steps light, spreading her weight out and balancing on the fluctuating ground with all the ease of an alley cat. My feet turned dark brown and then black as they accrued more and more of the sludge. 

“I think we should turn back, take our chances with the village.” Fwahe said. 

I looked down and saw she was starting to sink into the moss carpeting as well. If we went back, I was going to find more dead things. Alfred had rescued me from a similar desolation. He’d told me the place I’d come from was a fishing town, a fishing town across the Black Salt Sea. I couldn’t shake the stomach turning familiarity of the place. Any one of those dead babies could’ve been me. He could’ve saved someone else. The corpses that made my nose wrinkle in disgust could be my parents, my sisters or brothers if I had any. The walls might be splattered with the blood of my relatives. Every collapsed house had the potential to be the one I would’ve been raised in. The cliffs I might’ve climbed, the boats I might’ve sailed, beaches I might’ve wandered. Everything was steeping in sickening possibility. 

“No.” I said, “You’re just afraid to get your feet dirty.” 

She rolled her eyes and pulled forward. 

The chain snagged on a root and she fell face first into the moss and mud. I didn’t try to contain the laughter. The gods themselves must’ve been satisfied with the wisdom of my decision and sent misfortune on the Vileblood. She pulled herself out of the filth while I pried the chain free of the root. Fwahe brushed mud from her face, wringing slick clumps from her hair. She tried to brush it off her clothes as well but it only seemed to soak in more and more. The paper-thin clothing was completely useless. 

“It’s a swamp.” Fwahe spat, sending a clump of mud splashing into a tree trunk. “The more we press on the deeper it’s going to get.” 

“I’m not going back.” I said starting forward. 

She leaned down and grabbed the chain, pulling me right off my feet. I went down too, blood mixing with mud as I was swallowed by the swamp. It filled my nose, my mouth, my ears as cold and awful as the ocean. The mud came with the additional unsettling quality of being thick and sticky. It was harder to expel. I struggled to get my footing again, furiously trying to wipe it all away. When I was finally able to get it out of my ears I was greeted by the sound of the Vileblood’s laughter. 

I ignored her and took a step forward. 

“It’s going to be easier for them to hunt us down in this.” She protested. “They could be lurking under the mud right now.” 

“I don’t care. I’m not going back.” 

“You’re going to get us both killed!” She protested. 

“You were ready to die this morning, why does tonight make any difference?” I asked. 

She followed after me, continuing with her light steps despite the thorough coating of filth. “I’m not going to let my body be taken by this refuse.” 

She spat into the mud to punctuate her point. I could sense the hesitation in every step. For the first time since the morning I was allowed the lead. She wouldn’t go first; she would only follow after. It didn’t take me long to realize that she was using me as bait. I didn’t care, so long as she wasn’t using me for food, and wasn’t trying to make me go back. 

Soon her balance wasn’t enough to keep her from sinking. The piles of moss gave way, and she had to step down into the mud. It lapped our ankles while the sky went scarlet. When the first signs of true darkness began to blend the branches together we were up to our waists. Mud caked between the chain links and sucked at our legs. I was never sure if I was stepping on the bottom of the quagmire or just a section of sludge that hadn’t shifted fast enough. We had to fight to forge ahead. 

“Still think you made the right call?” Fwahe grumbled when she sighted the first of the evening stars. 

“Not going back.” I repeated. 

We’d had this discussion too many times and she was quickly losing interest in it. So long as I gave her the same response she’d stop before lodging further complaint or insult. Repetition, the routine of things had always been a strength of the church. Our mantras and prayers were our solace. It was no small wonder to me that it seemed to be her eternal frustration. The sounds of slurping mud and shifting bodies were all I needed to stave off the quiet. Superfluous conversation did nothing but frustrate the both of us. 

When Fwahe came to a dead stop it was much easier to catch myself. Our progress was so abysmal; her strides were cut short by walls of mud. She had to quarter the length of them until they matched mine. A wide stance left you completely unbalanced in terrain like this, and neither of us wanted another face full of mud. The temperature began to drop. I felt it, she didn’t. 

“Where’s our shelter, church boy?” Fwahe asked. “Night is nearly here.” 

I looked all around for an answer. The trees sliced the horizon into tiny strips, and the dying light made it even harder to see beyond them. I pushed my bangs away from my face. The mud on my hands plastered them back for a few seconds before they sprung forward again. I wouldn’t be surprised if I ended up with my hair permanently dyed black as a result of the swamp mud. It felt awful when it dried, matting my hair like a neglected hound’s. 

As we were about to lose any fleeting sense of direction to the darkness I saw a spark of light. It was joined by several more, a few yellow-orange globes that were periodically joined by others. I didn’t know if they were lamplighters or hunters or something completely new. It didn’t matter, they were plenty to take a heading from. I grabbed her by the shoulder. This was met with a curling of her upper lip, but it dropped the second she sighted the lights. 

“Still think I made the wrong choice?” I asked. 

She grunted. I decided it was as close to confirmation as I was going to get. The lights were triumph enough; expecting appreciation from a Vileblood was just getting greedy. She decided that she had had enough of me leading. She shifted herself through the mud and regained the point position. She left behind a wake of mud, which I slipped into, letting her do the work in a manner not unlike a plow horse. The going didn’t get much easier, but now she was my bait. If anything was going to swallow us from below the murky depths, it was going to take her first. 

“How far do you think it is?” I asked. 

She shrugged, “Farther than the village would have been.” 

“Would you drop it with the village?” I asked. 

“No.” She spat. 

As we drew nearer the shapes became clearer. They looked like lantern lights to me, and they bobbed slightly up slightly down and to the sides. That was indicative of a hunters hold. I couldn’t see their holders just yet, but they gradually came into view. Each of them was a slightly different height from their partners. The way they were standing allowed for a perfect slant from tallest to shortest. They had taken up a straight line formation and seemed to be patrolling the banks of the swamp. 

When I could make out the style of hooded cloaks they wore, the ground began to slope upwards. Fwahe and I fought an uphill battle, but with every step we gained a little less mud held onto us. I could feel my knees again when they finally emerged in great steps; more akin to a horses’ then a human’s, fighting against the torrents of filth. Even as we stood panting on the swamps’ opposite side I had no feeling in my toes. They had gone numb from the cold. Fwahe’s seem to be fine, she even wiggled them to clear away the mud stuck between. I had to do it with a nearby stick. 

“Hey!” I shouted towards the lights. 

The hooded heads turned towards me in unison. 

Lamplight reflected in yellowed eyes. They were the wrong color. Only beasts had eyes like that. My blood ran colder than it ever had before. They were infected and began a charge for us. 

“Foul beasts!” One of them shouted. 

“No!” I called out to them. “I’m not a beast! We’re not-“ 

Fwahe’s hand slammed against my mouth. I tasted the mud on her fingers and saw the anger burning in her eyes. The one that was the same color as the beasts was the worst. If you could forge a blade out of anger it would be that color. 

“Shut. Up.” She said low and firm. There would be no arguing. 

They would be on us in a few seconds. The deer-like bounds returned as Fwahe retreated. Every bone in my body just wanted to quit, but giving up was just not in a hunter’s nature. I had been on raids and runs, and though none had boasted the same level of punishment as this did, I knew I had more in me. There was something else I could give before I died and I funneled that ineffable burst of stamina into my weary legs. As we ran, I regained feeling in my ankle and wished I hadn’t. It strung with every step. Gritting my teeth against the pain turned into a permanent grimace. 

“Keep up, church boy!” Fwahe snarled. 

I tried, I ran even when it felt like my lungs were going to explode in some shower of powder keg ash and viscera. It would be a bomb unlike any other, fueled by desperation and contempt. I had to keep going. The gods had saved me from Alexandrine, they weren’t going to deliver me from a crazed hunting party too. 

The people chasing us had to be blood drunk. There was no other explanation. The cases had become so rare I could hardly believe all five or six of them were drunk together. These parties had only been common when the founders of the healing church were alive, and that was mostly due to ignorance. We’d come a lot further since then. 

I heard the thundering of their boots. They crashed through bushes, over fallen trees and splashed into the swamp wherever it stood in their way. Nothing slowed them like it slowed us. We broke through several roots. Every time one snagged the chain we just kept surging forward instead of stopping to untangle it. Most of the time we had enough strength to push through, and the thought of taking the time to do things the proper way was intertwined with the knowledge of certain death. We took on the extra weight of debris caught between chain links. It dragged the ground, unavoidable creating more and more hazards. 

The first gun shot hit the chain. We felt the vibrations of it ricochet through the metal. It only propelled Fwahe faster. Her strides widened to encompass four of mine. I went down hard a few seconds later; I couldn’t keep up. 

“Get up church boy!” Fwahe snarled. “I am not dying because of you!” 

I scrambled to stand and when I wasn’t fast enough she shoved her arms under my shoulders and hauled me up. I was carried for a few paces before I regained my footing. We kept going even though they were no more than a half step behind. I could smell the closest one’s breath. It was worse than the corpses. 

There was a flash of silver and a jolt of pain. I felt the blade bite into me, it was rusty and wanted for sharpening, making the slice sting all the more. I didn’t have time to lament. I kicked at my attacker, but used the wrong foot. Fwahe clashed into him knocking him over completely. It was not the attack that I intended, but it did its job and staggered the madmen. She turned her rage at me towards the pursuers biting the nearest until he screamed. We were able to get a half-pace away before the other four closed in. There were five in total. 

One of them came at Fwahe. She grabbed him by the arms and flipped him over her back and onto his. When he fell to the ground, arms above his head, she bent his wrist the wrong way. It snapped and he let loose a shriek that any banshee would’ve been proud of. He dropped the knives he had sought to slit her throat with. They were rusty, with crude wooden handles but she took them with the eagerness of a fight long parted from battle, hungry for blood. I heard a third scream as they met their mark in another man. 

I was having a much rougher go of it then she was. I tried to use the metal cuffs like bracers and block the madmen’s blows. They were fast and knew how to work as a unit. I found it difficult to keep up with them, and took several slashes on the forearms. I needed to steal a weapon like the Vileblood had, but lacked the ability to do so. She disposed of the three men who hadn’t focused their attention on me. I heard a splash from each of their bodies as she flung them into the swamp. Their lights went out. 

She wasn’t above assisting me, something I should’ve been deeply grateful for. I couldn’t bring myself to thank her with anything more than a nod as her stolen knives stole the life from one of my attackers. I took the last myself, wrapping the extra chain links from one of my cuffs around my neck and forcing the air out of him along with his life. His corpse joined the others in the lake. I took one of the rusty swords that had wounded me and the lantern that led us into the hunting party. 

It suddenly occurred to me that we should’ve stolen their clothes before throwing them in the swamp. I had just blindly followed Fwahe’s disposal routine costing myself shoes, a jacket and every other kind of comfort. We could’ve had belts for our weapons instead of the hopes that clever cuts in our clothing would be enough to support them. 

“You are some monumental new kind of stupid.” Fwahe spat at me. She armed herself with everything, happy to incorporate each rusty blade into her arsenal. Part of me was surprised she didn’t ask for the sword. 

“It got us out of the swamp didn’t it?” I asked. 

I was sure she was rolling her eyes at me, even if I couldn’t see it. We went in the direction the hunting party had chased us away from. It was reasonable to believe that that direction would have at least been cleared of beasts, and the madmen were easy enough to apprehend. Fwahe moved like a quicksilver bullet. One opening was all it took for her to bring men to their knees. I had never been more grateful for the Executioners and their noble mission to eliminate threats like her. One day I’d stand by Alfred’s side and rid the world of the Vileblood Fwahe, but for now she was a necessary evil. 

Solid ground was a gift unlike any other. As we continued, feeling returned to my toes. My fingers were cold but they weren’t frozen. I wrapped them white-knuckle tight around the hilt of the madman’s sword. I didn’t want to lose my grip on it. The Vileblood had decided to take the lantern along with maintaining the lead. The small candle cast our shadows a hundred times taller and longer than we were. The trees began to thin, giving way to shrubs and smaller bushes. A deer run turned into a dirt path which she elected to keep following. 

The moon had fallen to the ground. I saw the perfect silver circle lying at our feet. A few more steps and I could bend down and pick it up. I could slip the moon into my pocket like a silver dollar. Fwahe’s hand slammed into my chest, ramming the rounded end of a knife handle into my stomach. I gasped in pain. 

“What was-“ 

“Look!” She barked at me. She stretched he lamp out further and I squinted. We were standing on the bank of an enormous lake. One more stepped and I would’ve fallen right in. The moon wasn’t lying on the ground it was a perfect reflection on still water. The wind pelted us relentlessly but the lake wasn’t disturbed in the slightest. “Don’t they teach you doves to use your eyes, or do they just stuff your heads with feathers?” 

“Feathers?” I gulped. “Why would there be feathers?” 

She removed the knife from my stomach and sighed. I kept looking at the reverse reflection of the moon and wondering how it was possible that it could be kept so still. I noticed something else dominating the glossy lake. As my eyes adjusted, their vision assisted by the lantern light I could see the outline of some giant tower. I looked up from the surface and checked across the water. In a blink everything changed. A light brighter than the moon blinded the both of us. Ours eyes adjusted to gaze upon an enormous clock tower as the time was chimed out across the lake. I counted nine, Fwahe insisted ten. The argument wasn’t one worth having. 

“Do you harbor an unreasonable hatred for towers like you do for towns?” Fwahe asked. 

“No.” I growled back. 

“Excellent.” 

When she grinned the candlelight illuminated her teeth. They were pointed like an animal’s would be, and looked sinister even without the scar on her face and her unsettling eyes. 

“Why is the lake like that?” I asked. 

“It’s frozen.” She said. 

“Well great, we can walk across it, save us another journey through the swamp.” I said. 

“So you admit the swamp was a horrible idea?” Fwahe asked. 

“A frozen lake-“ 

“A frozen lake would crack under our weight. Unless you fancy a swim I wouldn’t recommend it. That ice can’t be very thick, it’s probably hardly more than a crust. You’d break through it and pull me down with you”, she snarled. Before I could protest, she hurled a rock out into the water. Her shot landed a perfect bullseye in the center of the moon. The ground split where she’d hit it and the rock sank. 

“Right.” I said. 

“I usually am.” Fwahe agreed. 

“That’s not what I-“ 

“It was a joke, church boy.” She muttered. 

Without another word she continued along the bank. I tried to stay for a few extra moments. I’d never seen anything like the lake before and it was deeply fascinating. The cracks from the stone just keep spreading and spreading. The hole it made got bigger, churning water beneath swallowed the moon like a pill. The cuff bit into me, and rather than start bleeding again I followed after Fwahe. I could still hear the lake splitting apart behind me. I chanced another glance and caught the snout of some sea creature poking through the hole in the ice. It slammed itself into the crust of ice. Each time the surface of the water shook and broke apart. 

“Fwahe?” I asked. 

She spun on her heel, nearly sending me head-first into a tree. She saw it before I had to explain it. We watched as a spine ridge dappled with strange flute-like horns broke its way through the icy containment. Two ice-blue hands, big enough to pick a man up like a ragdoll scratched across the frozen crust. Its claws left behind deep dark scars where they split the ice into water. The creature tried to get a grip on the thin surface and pry itself out of the dark depths. 

“That’s not good.” She assessed. 

For a few seconds the beasts’ hands found their purchase and it was able to lift its head from the water. Its wrinkled skin and snub shark-like nose were easy to overlook due to its mouth; which had so many rows upon rows of teeth inside of it a single beast could’ve kept a dentist supplied for years. It gave a brief shriek before the ice gave way in a crunch; sending its hands through separate holes and plunging its body back down. 

“That’s very not good.” She amended. 

I had been sure that running was impossible, but those rows of teeth sparked new energy. We took off along the bank. I learned to bound like she did, though I managed it with considerably less grace. The shark-creature wasn’t confined to the water. It smashed through the ice until there was a clear path to the water’s edge. The creature dug its claws into the beach; scrabbling at the shifting sand. Some unholy combination of hunger and rage drove it forward - the thing seemed to operate on excess momentum. Every time I was sure it would slip back below the ice, it gained ground. Mad dash after mad dash brought it onto the banks. The thing had back legs too, and once it got its footing it ran, shaking the earth with each footfall. 

Fwahe decided it was worthy of one of her knives, flinging the rusty weapon over her shoulder. She was as adept with the knives as Yilmarie, connecting blade to target with ease. I judged she was aiming for its eye and the scream it unleashed upon impact seemed to indicate that she had hit it. We continued running towards the tower. Branches clawed at us, scraggly bushes scraping our legs. Every foreign touch brought on another jolt of fear that drove us ever onward. 

“If you die on me, church boy…” Fwahe started. 

Before she could finish the shark beast grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides. Her legs kicked wildly, but the monster held her at such a distance where she couldn’t land a single blow. I saw a flash of teeth before she bit it. The creature was clearly in pain, but not enough that it would drop her. 

I was dangling upside down, flung side to side by the Vileblood’s sporadic kicking. She swung with so much force that I was slammed into the beasts’ wrinkled chest a few times. I bounced off the blubbery flesh harmlessly, at least in regards to the creature. I was all but seeing stars as I tried to get my bearings. Fwahe’s kicks increased exponentially as the shark creature’s hand brought her closer to its mouth. If it ate her I’d likely be taken along for the ride, and I wasn’t ready to end things here. 

I grabbed the sword and slammed it into the shark-beast’s mouth. The point of the blade slid through gums and up past bone into brain. The beast squealed, as I jammed the hilt against its bottom row of teeth, keeping its mouth wedged open. In a frenzy to free itself from the sword, it dropped Fwahe; hands madly scrabbling to remove the offending object. We hit the ground hard, but not hard enough to shatter siderite. 

“Are you okay?” I asked. 

“Bruises, nothing more.” She said, “Let’s run before it has the chance to do anything else.” 

I nodded. Despite the illuminated face of the clock acting as our landmark, I began to lose track of time in our frantic dash through the shadows. We made sure to steer clear of any gatherings of light, lest we stumble upon another group of madmen. She didn’t offer me another weapon to replace the one I’d saved her life with. I didn’t relish the imbalance of power, but the rusty knives were better served in her hands. A missed throw could be the difference between life and death, I trusted the Vileblood’s aim more than my own. 

The ground we traveled was especially unforgiving to a church novice like me. I had grown accustomed to paved roads and trimmed trees. I hadn’t ever thought about practicing in the countryside for the kind of traveling that would’ve been routine for an Executioner. When I got back to Yharnam I’d have some experience behind my belt, that was if I made it back to Yharnam. 

The chances of that seemed slimmer with every step we took. I didn’t imagine Rosin had been able to escape the Prestwick ship a second time. Even if by some miracle she’d taken it back and had her proper crew and knew where we were, there was no guarantee she would risk the journey for us. She was a pirate first, and seemed to have other goals to attend before saving the lives of two people she barely knew. I’d never be able to find my way back to Yharnam on my own. I didn’t know the first thing about sailing, and from what I could gather, traversing the Black Salt Sea was arduous and deadly, even if you were a skilled helmsman. 

My only chance was the tower. For all I knew the place was overrun with nothing but mad hunters. I had initially feared it would be as desolate as the fishing villages, but as we neared the tower things began to feel like home. My feet, though sore were comforted by the smoothed cobblestone path we turned down. The overpowering odors of rot and death was chased away by scented candles. The streets were lined with them, as those in Yharnam had been. The smell was an oddly comforting one. 

The Vileblood was willing to slow down. She seemed to be having a bit of trouble catching her breath after our latest encounter. My ankle was bleeding again but I barely noticed until the candles made light of the trail I left behind. It was a far more dangerous industry in the dead of night then it had been during the day. 

“This place stinks worse than the corpses.” Fwahe said. 

“It’s just…” I began. 

I realized where I knew the smell from. It was no wonder she hated it. 

“Just what?” She asked. 

“It’s just incense.” I said, “Keeps the beasts away.” 

“Makes my throat itch.” She muttered. 

Things only got worse for her as we continued. The streets were dripping with candles. Paths without people split into forks or broke off and became bridges. The rivers they were constructed to cross threatened to overwhelm them. Each one we crossed seemed to be seconds from collapse. We couldn’t have been the first to disturb them, someone had to cross them to light the candles. I still couldn’t shake the feeling that we were the only ones doing damage. I felt an odd sense of responsibility for every crack in the stones and corroded bit of railing. 

We passed a fountain that burbled with thick swamp water. It spilled out of the basin and onto the paving stones. I saw something like a skeletal hand waving around in the muck. 

“Do you think there’s a messenger caught down there?” I asked. 

She shrugged, “Doesn’t matter.” 

I ignored her and took a few steps closer to the fountain. Shoving away the floating moss and grime that had collected over the surface of the water as I tried to locate the hand. My sleeves became soaked with sullied water. Even with the reluctant Vileblood leaning the lantern out over the surface I couldn’t see a thing. 

I blinked to clear my eyes. “Must have just been a trick of the light.” 

I was pulling my hands out of the fountain when I felt something lash on. I gnashed my teeth, sharp nails cut into skin. I braced my heels against the side of the fountain and pulled with all my strength. In a pop of dark sludge my arm emerged, a skeletal messenger clinging to my skin. I grinned. 

“Hey…easy little guy.” I said. “Go on and let go you’re okay.” 

“Really?” Fwahe asked, “We’re running for our lives through a creepy deserted town and you want to take on more weight?” 

“I…I can’t leave him.” I said. After the corpses and the madmen we tossed into the river, the sinking of the Reckoning and the capture of the Searider Falcon, I had to save something. I just couldn’t stand it anymore. The little messenger hissed at Fwahe as it pushed clumps of mud off its emaciated limbs. 

“Fine. Bring the little idiot along, maybe there’s a brain somewhere between the two of you.” Fwahe snarled. 

The offended messenger gathered up a clump of mud and flung it at her. He had incredible aim, landing the missile on the back of her neck. The scarification of the letter “V” was covered with a starburst of mud. She whirled around, eyes full of fire and swung her fist at my face. I ducked not a second too soon. She tripped over the chain, going down but catching herself on the rim of the fountain. 

“Come on.” I said, eager to avoid both aggression and argument, “We should keep moving.” 

I was off before she had the chance to oppose. 

The messenger made a nest for itself on my head, picking out mud and bugs, rearranging my hair until it was comfortable. It was really nothing more than skin and bones, even as exhausted as I was the little guy was easy to carry. 

“Watch our backs, alright?” I told it. 

The messenger patted me twice on the head, which I took as confirmation. 

We came through the candlelit town to realize the reflection on the water had betrayed us. What we’d taken for a clock tower was nothing more than the face. From the distance the buildings surrounding it had merged themselves into the general shape of a tower, enough to fool us through distance and reflection. As we stood in front of it I was reminded of the kraken’s eye, the clock face wasn’t really so different. Like an enormous child’s building block it had just been left on the ground. The messenger I’d picked up started to burble incoherently, jumping up and down and pointing at the clocks’ hands. 

“What’s gotten into your little half-wit?” Fwahe asked. 

“I don’t know.” I replied. 

I lifted him off my head and set him on the ground. The wordless way he communicated reminded me of Ottilie, and I felt my heart shatter. I had never learned to talk to her. 

The messenger was quick to get our attention, waving his arms wildly. Once he had locked eyes with both of us for several seconds he moved his arms like clock hands, pointing to where seven and five would be on a standard clock. The face of this one didn’t have numbers, it was completely blank. I scooped him back up as Fwahe and I began to shove the hands into the desired position. There was a good amount of resistance from them, and I worried we might break the mechanism completely if we pushed too hard. Fwahe and the messenger did not share this viewpoint. The Vileblood put her entire weight into shifting the hands. The messenger pressed his skeletal palms against the metal and tried for all he was worth, though it didn’t make much of a difference. 

The first hand was easy enough to pin down to the space where the number five should’ve been, but it’s twin towered above us, pointing halfway between ten and eleven. Of course it was the hour marker as well, and if we couldn’t find a way to reach it now, we would have to wait until early morning for the hand to come any lower. I was about to ask Fwahe to stand on my shoulders and jump for it, but with the cuffs it would never work. 

“What are you staring at, keep shoving!” Fwahe barked, still straining with the messenger to push the minute hand passed the five o’clock position. I followed her lead until the hand hit eight o’clock. 

Fwahe leaned over it and began to push herself onto its slim surface. I mirrored her until we both teetered on top of the minute hand. Bare feet made for a good grip, but there was hardly any room to balance on. I gripped the glowing surface of the clock face to steady myself. 

The Vileblood stretched her arms far above her and was able to lock them around the hour hand. She dangled from it, a few inches off the ground. Once again I followed after, understanding her plan in greater detail as it unfolded. With the two of us shoving at it the hour hand moved downwards by degrees. With a bit more maneuvering we locked both hands into their positions. Just as the minute indicator was returned to its former position we heard a click. There was a monumental whirring of gears as the inner mechanism was triggered. Through the illuminated glass we saw spinning circles and clattering gears. The glass rotated until the top most part came down to the bottom. A circular opening was exposed, cut out of the glass and large enough for a person to walk through. The messenger patted me on the head again. 

“I don’t like this.” Fwahe said. 

“It’s a shelter.” I said with a shrug before heading inside. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

“Shelters are caves. Shelters are towers. Sometimes shelters are underground. Shelters are not mysterious clocks in the middle of empty villages.” She huffed, but stepped through the entryway nonetheless. 

“Just a few hours earlier you were begging to go back to one of those empty villages.” I pointed out. 

“I don’t beg.” Fwahe said. As soon as she entered the building she spat on the floor. 

I was overwhelmed by the sight of it. The clock had opened up into a long rectangular room. Stand upon stand of candles lined the walls. There were pews, actual wooden pews lining the sides of the room. Fwahe nearly tripped over the pulpit as she advanced. 

I was in a church. 

We’d found a church. 

With no regard for the Vileblood’s contempt or the cuff on my ankle I fell to my knees. The building was soaking in the familiar scent of incense. The candles’ glow was like a warm embrace. If I closed my eyes I could visualize phantoms of the church elder’s, the chorus, Head Vicar Lanthem. A thousand circuitous conversations about the discomfort brought on by sitting on hard wooden pews played over in my head. Eros, Yilmarie and I had been over this topic from every angle in our youth. I had forgotten it completely until now. 

I felt like doing twenty different things all at once. 

I started with the prayers. If the Vileblood voiced lamentations at the sound of them, I was too happy to here. I thanked Mother Kos of the sea. I praised Formless Odeon of the Sky. I even tried to piece together a hymn for Eribetas, the daughter of the Cosmos whose location had long been lost to us. My throat was horrifically dry; the song couldn’t have sounded any good. I recited all of Head Vicar Lanthem’s favorite prayers. I spoke aloud the only three verses Eros had ever memorized. When I had completely run out of things to say, I walked along the aisle, running my fingers over the backs of the pews. Neatly rolled and spaced between the seats were scrolling copies of the Anointed Texts. I picked up the closest and unrolled it part way. Words that I had read a thousand times before were now printed in clear black ink before my eyes anew. I struggled to test my memory against the text, as overcome with emotions as I was. There was nothing that could be done to stop the flow of it all. The words blurred as the tears started to flow. 

“Pull yourself together.” Fwahe hissed to me. 

I ignored her. The messenger scuttled down from my head and tugged at the scraps of my sleeve trying to get my attention. When the third attempt to brush him away was unsuccessful I finally looked up. 

Standing at the opposite end of the church was a lady in a long coat and a pointed cap. Her white hair was gathered back in a ponytail. She wore a sword at her hip. The jeweled green brooch she wore at her throat was the same color as her eyes. 

“S-sorry ma’am.” I said, setting the scroll down and folding my hands over my lap. I bent over until my nose brushed my knees giving her the sincerest hunter’s bow I could manage. 

She waved a hand at me, “Do not worry so much, young hunter. It seems as though you’ve been through a great deal. Weeping at the end of a long journey is understandable to even the most callous of adventurers.” 

“Thank you.” I said, standing upright once more. I wanted to offer her more than just words of thanks, but I had absolutely nothing to give her aside from the torn canvas and clothing. I didn’t expect she’d want either of those. 

The messenger scurried towards her, greeting the beautiful lady like an old friend. It clung to her leg and she smiled warmly at it. This time she was the one giving him pats on the head. He came as close to genuinely smiling as I’d ever seen any of the messengers get. 

“Guess that’s how he knew how to get in here.” I said, “Sorry for the intrusion ma’am…we just found the little guy drowning in a fountain…and there were hunters…and fish things and…” 

“You are welcome here.” The lady said. Her voice was soft, and covered over with an accent I could not place. It was the kind of voice that seemed more accustomed to speaking dead languages and using antiquated phraseologies than anything else. Her readings of the Anointed Texts must have been lovely. “I am Lady Maria, the guardian of this church and the patron saint of the hospital beyond.” 

Another wash of relief came over me at the mention of a hospital. There was a chance of my infection being cured yet. Surely everything was in stages early enough to stop. Feathers could be plucked; nails could be clipped. It might be a painful process but anything was better than the horrors of the transformation. 

“It’s an absolute honor, Lady Maria.” I said dropping into another bow. “I am Brother Kohso of Odeon Chapel in Yharnam, and this is.....Fwahe.” 

“You’re from Yharnam?” Lady Maria asked. 

“Yes m ’lady.” I said, “And desperately trying to get back.” 

“You must have quite the story to tell, but first we’d better to see to those wounds of yours. They seem pretty serious.” Lady Maria opened the back door of the church and we followed her out into a moonlit garden. 

There were enormous flowers, the likes of which I had never seen before. Though I was saddened to leave the first church I’d seen in ages behind, the untamed majesty of her garden beckoned us deeper inwards. Not even the Vileblood could resist the draw of it. She stuck her entire face into one of the blossoms we passed. It had a center full of seeds and widespread petals, like the sunflowers I sometimes saw in the fields back home. These didn’t share the same coloration and were far bigger than the Yharnam variety. While the country fields outside of the city would be bathed in garish yellow these flowers had silky white petals and a blood-red center. 

“My garden.” Lady Maria said, “There is not much that we can manage to grow here, but the coldblood flower seems to favor this soil.” 

In the center of the garden was a towering mass of the flowers, all tangled together in a massive knot of stems and petals. I could’ve laid down and made snow angels in the center of them had there been cause too. They were that monumental. 

“It’s quite impressive, m ‘lady.” I said. 

Both the Vileblood and myself were startled when we saw the first of her gardeners. They were huge hulking things with shoulders and heads too big for their bodies. In the dim light the lanterns scattered throughout the garden offered they were little more than shadows. I couldn’t discern any facial features. Lady Maria waved to a few of them, and they were quick to return the greetings. 

“Thank you, Brother Kohso.” Lady Maria said, stopping by a bird bath. She took the messenger that had been clinging to her foot the whole while and placed him in the cloudy water. He splashed a few times and made the attempt to grin again. She giggled and plucked a nearby flower from the ground, passing it off to her skeletal friend. He draped it over his shoulder, sheltering under the petals like a parasol. “We’ve been using them to make medicines and tinctures, working to lessen the effects of the Ashen Plague.” 

“We came through a few villages on our way here, m ‘lady. The damage was incalculable.” I said. 

“I wouldn’t know.” Maria said plucking a dead leaf off the messenger’s floral umbrella, “I haven’t been beyond the entrance to this place in years.” 

“Are you not a hunter?” I asked. 

I had concluded from her weapons that she must be. Wearing a sword for ceremony or fashion was a possibility I’d never considered before, but things could be very different across the sea. 

“Of course.” She said, confirming my suspicions. “But I’ve kept the people I was tasked with protecting very close. They, themselves are too weak to venture beyond the walls of my hospital. I’ve had to protect them from within. We’ve had our share of nastiness crawl up from below.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, m ‘lady. If there is anything I can do to be of assistance-“ 

“I do so very much appreciate your spirit, Brother Kohso but you will become a very poor hunter indeed if those wounds fester.” 

“And I’m not helping clean up other hunter’s messes.” Fwahe spat. 

“I can tend your wounds as well, Lady Fwahe.” Lady Maria offered. 

“Just Fwahe.” The Vileblood corrected. 

“Indeed.” Lady Maria returned. 

She unlocked a pair of enormous wooden doors with a key from her pocket. There was the sound of more gears shifting as the doors bent inwards of their own accord. These doors were less impressive then the mechanics behind the clock face, but they worked just as smoothly. Lady Maria stood to the side, allowing us to go first. 

The first thing I saw was the staircase, a massive swirling snake of a thing that stood in the center of the multi-floored hospital. It seemed to be constructed out of some kind of wood, stained so dark it was as black as the sky outside. The structure was polished to such a refinished finish that it shone like metal. The walls were green, deep and rich like emeralds, like her brooch. The room made it feel like you’d been shrunken down and dropped into a bottle of absinthe. Everything was lavish and dizzying. 

The darkness was banished by gaslight. There were very few windows to remind patients of the time outside. Lady Maria’s hospital dwelled in eternal sunlight. Following the staircase upwards there were balconies and far, far above a ceiling with exposed beams. Some of the balconies held shelves full of supplies, others were lined with closed doors, neatly marked. I noticed a few wheelchairs as well, though none of them were currently occupied. 

I looked over the railing. Far below us seemed to be some sort of reflecting pool. Candlelight glinted off a shimmering surface that stretched out shapes in a way only still water can. The reflections warbled slightly, it wasn’t a perfect iced surface as before. 

“This way, please.” Lady Maria said, once more grabbing my attention. “You’ll want to follow me, it’s easy to get lost in here.” 

“Yes, m ‘lady.” I said. 

Fwahe said nothing. She kept her arms close at her sides, walking with the stiffness of a tin toy. Her expression was much the same, emotionless and painted on revealing nothing of the monster beneath. We hadn’t told the hospital’s patron saint that Fwahe was a Vileblood. I’m sure she would rather it stay that way. Until I was removed from the cuffs I would have to maintain appearances. An infected church hunter was one thing, but an infected church hunter who drug along Vileblood companions was unforgivable. If I were Lady Maria and I found out, I’d lock us both outside without a second thought. There were sick patients here, they’d be easy prey for a hungry monster. 

The guilt crept in again. It seemed like Lady Maria had spent so long inside her hospital. She waved at gardeners and gave flowers to the messengers. I had just brought a demon into her home. My heart sank lower and lower with every step we went down. Some of the staircases branched off onto others, but ours made direct contact with one of the balconies. Lady Maria made sure the both of us had stepped off the stairs before continuing down the halls. As we passed by the hospital rooms I could hear strange sounds from behind them. The first held the sound of someone groaning in pain, which seemed reasonable enough. Not every medical procedure was going to be painless or comfortable. The second door echoed with dripping water which plip-plopped endlessly. There was a lot of whispering behind the third, then the sound of some mechanical whirring. 

I didn’t get a chance to hear what was beyond the fourth door. This was the one that Lady Maria opened for us. Again she utilized a key from her pocket. The lock on this one was of the kind I was accustomed to and there was no automated opening. Lady Maria locked her fingers around the handle and opened it for us. 

Behind the door was a room with brick walls. It was dark inside, and hard to make out any details beyond the entry way. The light coming in from outside was all we had to see by. I took a tentative step in, pulling Fwahe along behind me. As soon as her feet crossed the threshold, the door swung shut. All of the light vanished. 

“M ‘lady?!” I called. 

There was no response from the other side. I banged on the door and called again. Instead of a response I heard the click of a key. We were locked inside. I tried the handle. It didn’t budge. 

“I fucking hate you.” Fwahe growled. I wasn’t sure if she was talking about me or referring to Lady Maria but I doubted it made much difference. 

I kept knocking on the door, doing my best to ignore her. “M ‘lady! We’re locked in!” Fwahe grabbed me by the shoulders and tore me away from the door. “I knew you were stupid, church boy. Kos have mercy I knew, but you do not seriously just believe that bitch accidently locked us in here. Oh let’s just follow you into your creepy mysterious empty hospital in the middle of nowhere. I’m sure everything is just going to be fine.” 

“She said she wanted to help.” I said. 

“Oh she said she wanted to help! You know what then, I’m going to just say that I’m the High Octave of the Choir. I’m your precious Head Vicar. I’m a murderous troop of Executioners! Do you believe me, church boy? I said it didn’t I” 

“Stop it.” I said. 

“I’m your dead friend what’s his name that you mutter about in your sleep!” Fwahe shouted. 

“Stop it!” I said again. 

“I’m Alexandrine Prestwick and I’m going to force you to have dinner with me!” She continued. 

“Stop it!” I shouted. 

“I’m silly little Brother Kohso so if I just pray enough and be nice and good everything is going to magically turn out ok!” 

“Stop it!” I roared. I shoved the Vileblood with everything I had. She stumbled backwards, and I took hobbled steps forward so she wouldn’t drag me down with her. But down we went. The whole floor just stopped no more than a yard from the door. We were falling, both of us too stunned to grip onto anything and stop out decent. 

Fwahe hit the ground a few seconds before I did. I crashed on top of the Vileblood, who pushed me off and threatened to devour me whole. I was worried she meant it this time, but the pain of the fall stopped me from putting up a defense. I felt her hands on my neck, loose at first but slowly tightening. She was squeezing. I was sure if I’d been able to see my vision would’ve gone blurry but there wasn’t so much as a speck of light. I couldn’t see the hatred in her eyes but I knew it was there. 

She stopped when she heard the slap of bare feet on damp stone. The murderous pressure on my neck relented and I was able to breathe again. I could get the air in but I still couldn’t see. My ears worked, and I heard the footsteps increase. There were at least three other bodies in the room. They spoke, all of it in pleading desperate whines. One of them was begging for death. 

“Stay back!” Fwahe snarled. 

I heard a metallic ring. Fwahe still had the weapons from the madmen, and she had drawn at least one of them. 

“Oh Lady Maria please, forgive me, “one of the unseen people lamented. “I have failed you.” 

“Don’t mistake me for that bitch!” Fwahe snarled. 

I didn’t understand how they could mistake the ragged Vileblood for the well-dressed woman who’d lured us here. They must be as blind as I was. 

“Lady Maria, please.” They began to beg. 

She slashed and one of them screamed. I heard the wet packing sound of blood splattering across the floor. Her attacks didn’t seem to diminish their enthusiasm. They kept coming towards us, calling Lady Maria’s name. I got to my feet as Fwahe launched herself into the fray. I felt their hands brush my arms and face, cold and thin. Fwahe sped forward on instinct driven away from the pleading patients like a mouse from a cat. It didn’t matter where she went so long as she got away. 

It was only when we drew near that I could see the patients. I didn’t blame Fwahe for running. In the places where their heads should have been, were horrible gelatinous blobs of flesh. They seemed to constantly be melting and reforming. The patients were all dressed in canvas jackets with leather belts on the chests and arms. They should’ve been restrained but someone had neglected their duty. Now they were free to roam. 

“Just kill me.” One of them pleaded. 

He clung to the tattered sleeve of my Prestwick Company uniform and I furiously fought to get away. The patient’s untrimmed nails scratched my skin. His grip wasn’t strong enough to draw blood; everything about Lady Maria’s patients was fragile. Sadly, the same couldn’t be said for her doors. They were all hard wood or solid metal. Fwahe and I tried to break open the door to this secret bottom room but there was no give. 

“There!” Fwahe shouted. 

She pointed through the darkness. It was too thick to see through, but I decided to trust her anyway. Like most monsters she was able to see in the dark. I wasn’t surprised. We plunged back though the hospital patients. I cringed when my elbow bumped into one of their heads. It was squishy, like rotten fruit. I tried to keep from brushing against any more of them. My efforts drove me directly into an iron bed frame. I hadn’t seen any furniture in the room before, but as my body rang with fresh pain I realized that this room must be some kind of dormitory, or operating room. The horribly malformed creatures might very well have spent their entire lives in the dark pit. 

Fwahe had sighted a ladder against one of the walls. The cold iron rungs promised salvation if only it could be climbed. This was much easier said than done. We had to share each step, the cuffs didn’t stretch far enough for us to spread apart. We took the ladder side by side, our bodies hanging out over the open air more often than not. Despite my love of climbing Odeon Chapel’s roofs, I hated every step of this. Fwahe wasn’t nearly as experienced and she wobbled and shook. I knew if she went down I would too. We both had to find our pace and balance, or we would surely fall. Bit by bit we inched away from the patients, their limbs far too frail to make the same climb. They kept wailing from below, trying to convince Fwahe to come back and forgive them. 

The ladder was blocked by a trap door. I was sure this would be locked too, but rather than preventing our entry with gears and engineering, the metal contraption was simply too heavy to lift. Neither of us could get a solid grip on it without wobbling and potentially plummeting back to the patients. This ladder had brought us up a lot further than the ledge we’d initially been locked onto. Fwahe might make it out alive if we fell, for I had seen Cassius Battenberg take a lot of damage but I’d be cracked like a glass ornament. The Vileblood who had been assigned to devour me wouldn’t be able to, I’d be so splattered. 

“I’ll hold onto you…you push it open.” I said to Fwahe. With both of her hands at work we had a chance at getting the trapdoor opened. 

“How do I know you won’t try and drop me?” she snarled. 

“Because I’d fall too, or have you forgotten that little detail?” 

“Don’t touch me anywhere your Gods would condemn you for.” She grumbled as I put my arm around her waist. I gripped the ladder with my free hand and curled my foot around the rung. The Vileblood’s powerful legs braced themselves as she pushed upward. The door groaned and creaked, but rose a few inches. Fwahe’s shoulders shook with effort as she fought to open the door. Together we took a step up the ladder and forced the door open further. Inch by exhausting inch we cracked it open, until final it was done in by its own weight and flopped open. We scrambled through the hole in the floor and lay side by side, chests heaving. I didn’t have a single ounce of energy left. 

While I lay there hoping that no force on earth would ever make me move before I was ready, Fwahe was already back in action. She was on her feet and deaf to my protests. I struggled to stand and surveyed the room with her. This one was well-lit, and for good reason. In the center of the room was an operating table attended by several surgeons. They wore bird-beaked plague masks that hid their faces, and sat in wheel chairs while they worked. I noticed one of them had braces on his legs. 

The masked-men were carving open one of the patients. Its large head undulated at the far end of the operating table. Skeletal feet twitched as each surgeon took a turn with his or her scalpel. They had started work without sedating the poor wretch; cutting open his jacket along with his stomach. The humpbacked surgeons were buried so deep in their work they hadn’t noticed us. I suspected they may even be deaf as well as limited in their mobility, since any person with working ears would’ve heard the trapdoor opening. 

Fwahe eyed glimmering trays of needles and syringes with growing apprehension. Some of the tools were polished shiny silver, yet to be touched. Others were speckled with fresh blood. For a moment I considered grabbing one of the bone saws or precision knives and arming myself. I judged stealth would be a better weapon than any of the others lying about. Looking further into the room afforded more opportunities. Cabinets on the far end of the room, passed the throbbing head of the hospital patient, held gleaming vials of scarlet blood. I could really use a dose. The cabinets of blood bordered doors with iron gates, the openings to elevator shafts. They were potential escape routes, as was the door at the end of the hall. We had a lot of room to work with. 

One of the surgeons turned to grab a saw from his table. Even from behind his mask I could visualize his face changing as he noticed two intruders. 

“Oi!” He shouted “What are you doin’ ‘ere!” 

That got the attention of his co-workers. So they weren’t deaf after all. 

“We are….here…” I started trying to string together some sensible explanation for our sudden appearance, “On behalf of Lady Maria.” 

“Yeah n’ what’s she want wit us?” The same surgeon asked. His overall mood shifted slightly at the mention of Lady Maria’s name. He relaxed a little and laid his saw against one of the hospital patients’ rib bones. 

“She uh…” I stammered. 

My mind went blank. I wanted to just admit to being an escaped captive right then and there rather than be forced to carry this lie to term. I had no experience in the art of deception, nothing beyond the little tricks I’d used to get Thayne Gallimore off the streets. Luckily I was chained to an experienced liar. 

“She sent us to check on the patient.” Fwahe lied. 

“This bloke ‘ere?” the surgeon asked waving the bloody saw around as he spoke. 

“Yes.” Fwahe said. 

“What about ‘im?” the surgeon growled. 

“She wanted to know if you’d managed to…cure…him.” Fwahe replied. 

The surgeon rubbed the back of his neck with a free hand smearing blood all over his shirt collar. “Well…’es a bit more likely to….die then we mighta ‘oped. Still….don’t….can’t you just…” 

“Listen we never saw you if you never saw us.” Fwahe offered. 

All of the bird-masked surgeons nodded readily. 

“It’s not that we try n’ kill ‘um y’know.” The leg-braced surgeon said. “’Onest. It’s just as soon as you cut them open they all just start bleedin’ n’ dying. It’s ‘orrible inconvenient it is.” 

I nodded. Fwahe and I strode past the surgeons trying to seem like we belonged there. I was relieved that we had learned to match gaits after walking through the empty villages. The chain didn’t hinder us much and the surgeons were quick to return to their work. I let Fwahe choose which way to go, and she opted for one of the elevators. As we waited for the lift to come to us, I opened one of the cabinet doors and grabbed two blood vials. They were too large for me to take any more. I plunged the first injector into my leg and watched the liquid spill out of its container and into my bloodstream. It felt amazing, filling me with fresh energy and new strength. 

We stepped into the elevator. I pulled the iron grate behind us. It felt like we’d just stepped into another cage. Fwahe pressed her foot against the pedal that activated the pistons and counterweights. For a moment we didn’t know if the contraption would rise or fall. We went upwards, the strange room full of surgeons disappearing below us in a blur. The Vileblood let out a breath I hadn’t realized she was holding in. 

I held out the second vial of blood to her. 

“Do you?” I asked. 

She shook her head to answer before I could really finish my question. Of course the beast’s blood wouldn’t help her. It was stupid to think it might, but sharing seemed the proper thing to do. 

“You need strength.” Fwahe said, “Keep it.” 

I clutched it tightly, holding it in my left hand for lack of a pocket to better store it in. Fwahe still wielded her rusty knives. She stood a half-step in front of me, ready to be the first to attack. It was the position I preferred, but I was no longer the strongest fighter in the group. I had to step back and let the Vileblood lead so that we’d have a chance at surviving. No matter what I did there would never be away to explain this to Head Vicar Lanthem. I could not be forgiven for this. 

The elevator let us out in another room that was bright enough for us to see the details. After several scans we concluded that it was empty and safe to venture into. Trunks and cabinets lined the walls. Fwahe kept a lookout while I searched them. The first was full of pairs of shoes. There were a lot of wooden clogs similar to what I’d worn as part of the Prestwick Company uniform. I didn’t want to have to complete the uniform again, but everything else was too high on the ankles to wear with the cuffs. Some shoes were better than none at all. Fwahe refused to take a pair. 

The next trunk was full of trinkets. There were hunter’s badges and hair pins. These were precious things, and I realized that these containers held the belongings of Lady Maria’s unfortunate patients. She’d processed them, trading their clothes for canvas jackets. 

There was a horrific amount of guilt that came with taking a dead person’s things. I longed for the return of my own hunter’s badges. I would’ve traded several years off my life if only I could’ve kept the Executioner badge Alfred had given me, but it was long gone. The temptation to reach into the trunk and find a replacement was powerful. I could see the circular curve of something that might’ve been the shimmering silver Logarius Wheel, but I closed the trunk before inspecting it further. If any of the patients were still themselves, I refused to be the one responsible for the disappearance of their precious treasures. 

Clothes were another matter. Everything I wore was ripped and tattered, useless against the cold and the weapons of my enemy’s. There was a wardrobe brimming with perfectly good coats. Fwahe took the time to rip her Prestwick uniform into scandalously short pants which didn’t even fully cover her thighs. They left the majority of her legs completely exposed. Every lady of the night I’d passed in the brothel Sig had received us in was dressed more conservatively. Fwahe wasn’t concerned with conservative in the least. She cast aside scraps of her shirt to replace it with a new one without the slightest warning. I busied myself with rummaging through the hunter’s coats. 

Slick oiled leather and warm woven furs brushed the tips of my fingers. They would be a great defense against any blade and the plummeting temperatures. Thrice I nearly removed one and exchanged it for my uniform. I kept searching, until concealed in the back of the wardrobe I found a set of church hunter’s robes. They were far from the style mine had come in, cut from a cloth more antiquated. The design was something I’d only seen in illustrations before but it was unmistakable and I knew it well. 

I slid the thick woven fabric over my head, adjusting the high collar and letting the wool-lined hood rest on my shoulders. The sleeves were shorter then I was accustomed to, reaching only a third of the way down my arms. It had been the style then, the rest of coverage supplied by bracers that were absent from my outfit. Even without them I felt protected. The brocade and stitching were steeped in church blessing and secret charms. These were the robes of a Holy Blade, one of the church founder’s most trusted order of hunters. How such an immaculate artifact had ended up in a place like this was a story I didn’t wish to piece together. If a Holy Blade couldn’t stand against Lady Maria, we were doomed. 

“Done playing dress up?” Fwahe asked. I couldn’t have spent more than five minutes getting changed and she had already lost her patience. 

“Not quite.” I replied. There was one item my outfit had long been missing. If all the patients’ belongings had come to rest here and I was now in possession of a Holy Blade’s robes it meant a sword had to be nearby. I searched a closet full of dresses, slammed the lid on a chest of lady’s underclothes and resisted the urge to browse a box of hunter’s notebooks before finding the closet of weapons. 

“These I could wear.” Fwahe said reaching inside the cabinet and removing knives much shinier then the ones she had stolen. The madmen’s rusty weapons were left on the floor as the new ones slid into a new belt. 

I pocketed the extra blood vial and began to look through the cabinet’s weapons. For the most part it was crammed with old brutal weapons, the kind of things that had been phased out of the Healing Church. I sorted through clubs made out of beast bones, giant Bloodletters that drank the blood of their wielders until they were corrupted and ineffective brass swords. There was a time when we thought brass weapons would ward off the creatures, but the metal was nothing but a sham. After nearly being crushed by shifting piles of weapons, I locked my hands around the bone hilt of a sword. With one solid yank I wrenched it away from its bunkmates. 

The Holy Blade’s sword was a thing of beauty. The hilt was fashioned from the finger bones of some enormous creature. Two large joints with intricate carvings formed the grip. The guard was bone as well, carved into an inverted V shape from some larger portion of material. Clean white silk wrapped around the guard reached down to the fuller. The edges of shining silver were still sharp. The cloth smelled on incense. When I placed it in my palm the balance was perfect. 

It was not the thin foil I was accustomed to fighting with. There was no shooting mechanism clipped to the hilt and filled with quicksilver bullets, but of the weapons at our disposal it was the most modern. The Holy Sword suited me the best, and had a scabbard to match. Even Fwahe inspected it with a measurable level of interest. I wouldn’t let her touch it, sheathing the blade before her tainted blood did anything to corrupt it. 

Fwahe seemed content to spend a few moments cutting chunks out of old wood to test her new knives. Since there were ample medical supplies I was able to tie off or mildly disinfect some of the smaller wounds I’d taken. There was no way to get at the festering sores on my ankle, but I wiped at them with a clean damp rag. I thought about plucking more of the feathers out, but decided against them. The high-collared robes covered them better than the canvas had. 

“How are we going to get out of here?” I asked as I wrapped a final helping of gauze around the last of the cuts from the madman’s sword. 

“Now that I have these,” Fwahe said clicking the blades of her curved knives together, “We shouldn’t have any problems.” 

“Do you think there is anything in there that could break these cuffs?” I asked. The words brought on the spine-tingling electric charge of hope. The cabinet was revisited and the more primitive weapons were given their chance to shine. Fwahe shattered several bone clubs trying to break the eight links holding the two of us together. The siderite was stronger than the weapons of the past. 

“It was worth a try.” I sighed. 

She nodded. “Looks like you’re going to lose that foot before I have to cut it off.” 

I turned away from her and did my best to bandage it again. It wasn’t easy to get the wraps to stay around something that was constantly in motion. All the running and climbing was putting a ton of strain on the wound. I feared too much more and I might be incurring permanent damage. If it got bad this was the kind of wound that could prevent me from ever becoming an Executioner. Not that the Vileblood I was chained to wasn’t going to keep me from that goal as well. 

“We should try going down.” I said, “Lady Maria mentioned some kind of-“ 

Fwahe held up her hand, sneezed, and then interrupted me, “You don’t have to keep up with the titles Church Boy. She tried to kill you, at the very least drop the lady and call her Maria.” 

“Does it make a difference?” I asked. 

“Why respect the people who don’t deserve it?” She asked. 

“Oh because you’re just all about respect aren’t you?” I returned. 

“Yes.” She spat back, “You just haven’t earned mine.” 

Rather than be baited into another pointless argument I brushed away her advice and continued laying out my plan. “She mentioned some sort of beast infestation on the lower levels. There probably won’t be that many patients or doctors. If we find out where the beasts are getting in I imagine we can use that route to get out.” 

She nodded and didn’t voice a single objection. That was all the respect I’d be getting. Once we had caught our breath, donned our clothes and tested our weapons we stepped through the open door way. The hospital balconies were far more exposed then I felt comfortable with. Looking down we could see everyone, but looking up they could see us. Aside from the fact that our heads and faces were intact, our clothing stood out wildly from the hospital patients. 

Luckily Lady Maria was one of the ones below us. She was walking hand in hand with an oddly familiar boy, leading him up the winding staircase. Fwahe and I crouched behind the back of a wheelchair and waited for them to pass. I caught snatches of their conversation. 

“Honestly Miss Maria you don’t have to do this.” The boy walking next to her said. 

“I insist. You’ve had such a rough landing on our shores. A shipwreck? It must’ve been horrible!” Lady Maria said. Her voice oozed mock sympathy as she lured the boy in, every step up the stair another nail in his coffin. 

He chuckled. I knew that chuckle. “Whatever floats your boat. Can’t say I’d mind a nice meal and some fresh clothes.” 

I judged the distance and took a risk, poking my head out beyond the cover of the wheelchair. Fwahe’s hand snatched my collar and yanked me out of view a half second later, but I’d seen all I needed to. He had the same short stature, pointed face and ridiculous eyelashes. Lady Maria was sinking her claws into Salter. We weren’t the only ones who’d survived the sinking. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Fwahe hissed at me. 

“She’s got Salter.” I whispered back. “We’ve got to do something.” 

“We are doing something. We’re escaping.” Fwahe said. 

“That doesn’t help him!” I insisted 

“He doesn’t matter. She’s already got him, there’s nothing we can do.” Fwahe said. 

“We haven’t even tried yet.” I argued. 

They were getting closer, their footsteps echoing up to the hospital’s ceiling. Each one cranked up the pace of my rapidly beating heart. I couldn’t just sit there hiding, waiting for them to pass by. The Vileblood could resist me all she wanted, but I was going to get Salter out of this one. He was going to have done the same for us, if his plans hadn’t been corrupted by the Kraken. 

“Church boy, don’t you dare!” Fwahe threatened. 

I refused to let the Vileblood hold me back. I charged forward sword drawn. 

“Don’t listen to her Salter!” I shouted. 

His eyes met mine. There was a flash of recognition. It was probably because of the dots. “Kohso?” He asked. 

I watched Lady Maria’s hand tighten on Salter’s wrist. He tried to yank away. Fwahe and I were making a run for the stairs. The hospital’s patron pulled a lever worked into the wood at the staircase’s center post. The stairs began to swirl and shift, rise and fall. They carried Salter far away from me, disappearing upwards into the farther reaches of the hospital. 

“Don’t listen to her!” I shouted again. 

I couldn’t reach him. The railing came away from the landing and the stairs rotated away from me. I was a few steps too late, and if Fwahe hadn’t caught the back of my robes I would’ve fallen off the balcony ledge and down several floors. Now we were stranded on the third floor. Doctors had heard the commotion. Any patients who weren’t strapped down began to swarm the hall. The surgeon with the bone saw was with them. 

“Oi there’s the blokes what’s upset Mother Maria. Get ‘um lads!” He shouted. 

Once the bulging heads of the patients had a direction to head towards they came thundering at us. From the left and the right, they began to close in. We backed up at first as the ledge would allow, yet still they came. I drew my sword and Fwahe readied her knives. I had my qualms with cutting up hospital patients and doctors, it felt wrong attacking people who were supposed to be healers or invalids. I took the final step backwards, before half my heel hung over the edge. We had no place else to go. 

I glanced over the edge. The staircase was still moving. It was about to stop in a new position. A floor below us was an opening. Slowly, a landing between two staircases was coming towards us. If my timing was right, we wouldn’t have to kill a soul. I grabbed Fwahe by her collar and leaned back, letting all my weight go over the edge. I muttered a prayer to Kos as we fell over the edge. The Vileblood tensed up, every inch of her body going completely stiff. We touched down on the landing a moment later. I had hit more of the stairs then I’d hope, grimacing in pain where they broke new stinging on old bruises. Fwahe on the other hand fell right where I’d intended, in the perfect center of the landing. She was none too happy about this and lectured me on the stupidity of my decision while we picked ourselves back up. I started up the stairs but she locked her hands around the chain and hauled me back down. 

“Oh no Church Boy, you gave him all the help he needs. We are not running up to his rescue. He’s no damsel in distress.” She said as she pulled me away. “You’ve helped enough. We’re escaping if I’ve got to bash you in the head and drag you out with me.” 

I had to turn away and follow her lead. Salter would find a way out of this one. He had to; the Vileblood wasn’t going to let me do anything more for him. I couldn’t even get in a prayer before we were hurrying down the steps two at a time. The tip of my sword banged against the stairs as we sped down them. It was hard to keep our balance; the stairs were still coming to a rest as we were rushing down. From floors above us Lady Maria’s murderous children came running down at us. 

“Stop!” She commanded from above, “Let the worms have them!” 

The doctors and some of the patients listened, but more did not. They kept coming, each with no regard for the others. I saw the first patient plummet, knocked off the staircase by another running inmate. Its deformed head separated from its body on impact and bounced when it hit the ground, like a ball with half the air let out. That patient wasn’t the only one. Some of them screamed but more of them were silent as they fell, splashing into a watery pool below. 

The hospital had some kind of problem with its pipes. Below the stairs a depression in the floor had filled with stagnant cloudy water. The worms Maria had spoken of were enormous; the size of jungle snakes. They locked their mouths on the patients’ limbs, ripping out chunk after chunk. The water went red as the patients were torn apart. The stairs dropped us in the pool and we hacked our way through the hungry worms. They were easy enough to kill, without limbs they couldn’t pull us down or throw us against the wall. My sword severed their heads. 

The problem was they started to grow back. Each time I chopped off a head or siphoned off a tail, a new face grew from the fresh wound. Two stomachs desperate for blood rose up where there was once one. The new worms were smaller but they didn’t stay that way. They gorged themselves on blood and stagnant water until they swelled back to their original size. I watched it all happen in a matter of seconds. 

“Leave them!” I called to Fwahe, “Just run!” 

She didn’t need to be told twice. Ripping her knife out of a worm’s eye socket, she kicked it back into the pool of water and we ran. The worms went from enemy to ally. Whatever managed to make it down the stairs was stopped by beasts. 

We saw the side door at the same time. My vision in low light was improving. It must have been a side effect of the blood vial in combination with fresh infection. Fwahe bolted the door behind us and we pounded down the stairs. There were so many of them in this place it was unbelievable. We went down until everything was damp. The door turned us out in a jail cell. 

Kos herself must’ve, once more, been looking out for me. Rather than a wall of cold iron bars we were greeted with an open door that allowed passage. Fwahe was sure to slam it behind us so we wouldn’t be followed. 

The cell emptied out into a hall lined with other cells. The doors to all of these were thick wood rather than iron. These were all closed. Fwahe was quick to hurry past them, but I peeked through the barred window in each one. Most of them were empty, or looked down onto staircases that led deeper into Lady Maria’s nightmarish hospital. 

The very last cell in the hallway held a promise. Someone was saying something. I pressed my ear to the weathered wood. To my surprise the door swung open, it hadn’t been locked at all. I stepped into the cell. 

A small boy about seven years old was kneeling by the bed, hands clasped together in prayer. I joined him. His eyes widened when I got level with him. They were dark and shaped like almonds. He never stopped his praying, one of the devotions I knew very well. It was one of the first I’d ever learned. 

Together we recited it. “Shrouded by night, but with steady stride. Colored by blood, but always clear of mind. Proud hunter of the church.” 

Fwahe knelt beside us and added her own refrain. “Beasts are a curse, and a curse is a shackle.” 

She spoke over the proper words, but allowed us to end the prayer in its intended manor. The young boy and I blessed the founder of the healing church and his swordsmen whose robe I had borrowed with a final, “Only ye are the true blades of the church.” 

“Kos’ blessings upon you, sir hunter.” The boy said rising from his knees and giving me a shaky church bow. 

I smiled and bowed back, “And blessings unto you, young brother.” 

He must have been offended by Fwahe’s perversion of perfectly fine church prayers. He offered her no greeting and she wasn’t one to initiate a conversation. I had questions for him, but tried to take it easy. Nothing was what it seemed in this place, and though I detested the thought, I had to consider the possibility of this being a trap. 

“I’m Brother Kohso of Odeon Chapel.” I told him, “What’s your name?” 

He bowed again. “Yamamura Mori of the Temple of the Formless.” 

“How did you end up here Yamamura?” I asked. 

His eyes darted to his feet. He muttered a prayer nervously under his breath before speaking. “I am here out of shame, sir hunter. My temple sent me forth to this place as a tithe to keep the old founder alive. I was dressed in fine silks and ready to enter into service for this old hunter. I’d been told to do whatever he asked and was eager to meet my new master. There was another boy from another church. I cannot remember where he hailed from, but he was called Thompson.” 

I sat down on the bed and patted the spot beside me. It seemed this was going to be a long one. Fwahe leaned in the doorway, at once keeping watch and tapping her free foot to communicate her impatience. 

“Thompson wanted to go in and meet our new master first. I thought this would be of no harm and waited here, taking more time to pray. It was only going to be a few minutes’ delay…but then I heard the screaming…” 

The boy turned towards the door. I looked back out into the hall. There was one path left for us to take, down a small flight of stairs and through a stone archway. If someone was going to scream, the echo would definitely carry back through here. 

“I’ve just been working up my courage.” Yamamura assured me, “It’s only been a few days. I’m going to go in I swear. I just wanted to pray more.” 

“Of course.” I said, “I’ll tell you what, how about we go in for you and we’ll let whoever is in there know that you’re just taking your time. I promise we won’t say anything about you getting scared.” 

Yamamura held out his pinky and I locked mine around it, sealing the promise. It was the first one I’d ever made with the full intention of breaking. If Thompson had perished because of some church ritual, there was no way I was going to put Yamamura through the same. Head Vicar Lanthem had possibly intended the same fate for me. I hadn’t been able to save Salter or Ottilie or Ratliff but there was no reason I couldn’t keep this boy from sacrificing himself. He was one I was sure I could save. 

He hugged me and I patted him on the head. I let him hold onto me for a few seconds, then broke away, rejoined Fwahe and headed for the next set of stairs. Yamamura waved to us from the doorway of the cell. As we passed under the arch his prayers echoed through the halls once more. 

“Shrouded by night, but with steady stride. Colored by blood, but always clear of mind.” 

“Proud hunter of the church.” I whispered along with him. 

I had smelled an abundance of atrocities in my years as a hunter, but none of them came close to the stench of that entry way. Nothing came close; not the rotting corpses of carrion crows, billowing stomachs of bloated brick trolls that had burst open and rotted in the sun. Even the towns full of dead bodies didn’t come close to attaining the same level of stench. Every breath of it came to me through a layer of thick fabric. The high collar of the Holy Blade was no match for the all-consuming odor. 

There wasn’t a single torch lit along the way, but I could see everything perfectly. I momentarily wanted to look in a mirror, worried that maybe my eyes had changed. Sometimes they did that, when people got infected. The pupil and iris would burst and blend together, like a fried egg with a broken yolk. It was a stupid thing to be worried about. Mirror or no mirror we had to press on. 

As we arrived at the bottom of the stairs, a series of crunching and slurping sounds echoed through an enormous chamber. The ground became damp and sticky, an iron tang joining the suffocating smell. My shoes and Fwahe’s feet became coated in standing pools of stagnant coagulated blood. My stomach went sicker than it had ever been on the sea. 

“Fwahe do-“ 

“Yes. It’s blood. I know.” She said pushing past me. 

The soles of our feet sent ripples through the blood. When we came into the room it only got deeper, lapping at our ankles. It was going to stain the hem of my robe. I’d have to work very hard to get it out. The room we came in to was covered with skinned skeletons. Some of them were incomplete, layers of flesh and muscle still stretched taut over bone. They were everywhere I looked, and a few of them were still moving. Their skin was gone but their life remained. 

In the center of the room was the source of the crunching. He was covered by a tattered robe, the same style as my own but with more ornate brocade signifying the highest of ranks. Wild lengths of dark brown hair were thrown over his back. He was turned away from us, but I’d seen him in drawings so many times I already knew who it was. A bent face tore at the body of a once living human. He crunched bones and slurped up entrails like spaghetti. 

I was afraid to ask, but I had to know. “L-Ludwig the Holy Blade?” I stammered. 

He turned towards me, his head hung lopsided and he had to brace it up with his shoulder. There was a giant sore on his neck that swelled and depressed with a heartbeat all its own. 

“And which church has offered you?” He asked wiping blood from his lips. 

He was much bigger and taller then I’d though, inhumanly tall. The founder of the Healing Church who I’d longed to correspond with, spending hours in the aviary dreaming of a raven from had been ravaged by beasthood. He stood smiling in a sea of blood, sizing me up with eyes that hadn’t seen the sun in years. I had wanted to meet him all my life, and there he waited. Our church’s greatest paladin and truest heart, perverted. 

My heart snapped in two while my jaw hung open incapable of speech. Ludwig did not feel the same. He flung aside the half eaten corpse. It landed with a crunch and groan on a pile of bones.

“Very well. It makes no matter where you’re from. I am sure you’re eager to complete your final duties and join the offerings of your brothers and sisters before you. Allow me to welcome you into communion with our gods. It is time you met your makers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	12. 12. Much Better Hid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yilmarie, Minimus and Izaius search for the hidden entrance to Moonside Lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think!

Though I was loathe to admit it, having Minimus along actually came with its advantages. We had another set of eyes to keep a look out, another weapon against beasts. He had travel rations and we were able to get a few pieces of dried fruit off of him, eating as we pushed further into the woods. At first we couldn’t focus on the subtle sweetness of traveling food, we were so worried about what lurked behind us it was impossible to focus on what was ahead. 

“It’s really rather silly of us.” Izaius said. We’d gone about a mile with our heads locked in the wrong direction before he regained his easy-going confident tone, “If that hunting party was after us then we’d hear them coming. They couldn’t silence all those bells.” 

He was right of course, and once the simple fact settled in, the tension released. We went along easily, following the stream. The sounds of running water were enough to drown out any noise we made. I wanted to keep going all through the night, but my legs had other plans. They wobbled and threatened collapsed. I kept pushing them, routinely falling behind the two novices. Izaius would stop dead in his tracks and wait for me to catch up. Minimus would keep moving forward at a slightly slower pace. He had decided it was best if he stayed in the lead. 

“Can’t you keep up?” The church novice chastised. 

I was leaning against the trunk of a small tree, cold hands pressing into the rough bark for support. I could see my breath escape me in clouds, each full of energy that evaporated before I could get it back, 

“Leave off.” Izaius said. “He’s not accustomed to traveling and he’s been going all day and all night.” 

“Well we’re never going to get to Moonside Lake if he can’t keep pace.” Minimus growled. 

“We’re not getting there without him, unless you know how to translate Caryll’s notes.” Izaius retorted. 

Minimus did not. 

“Good. Now let’s rest for the night. Since you have so much energy Good Brother Minimus, I’m sure you won’t mind taking the first watch.” Izaius said. 

The evident displeasure of having the control of his traveling party pulled out from under him was scrawled all over the church novice. He hunched his shoulders, narrowed his eyes and stalked off a few paces to put distance between us. Izaius and I settled down by a slightly larger tree, resting our heads against the trunk. It felt good to have something solid at our backs. 

With routine thoroughness and organizational skills learned by fear rather than personal preference, Izaius unpacked all of our things. He stacked and piled them nearby, grouping everything together in a pretty little stack. He draped the stable blanket over the both of us, keeping in whatever limited warmth remained. It was too small to comfortably share. If I pulled the hem up to cover my shoulders, Izaius’ feet were left to freeze. In contrast when he stretched the blanket taut from the tips of his boots to the nape of his neck, there wasn’t enough left to cover half of me. Rather than either one of us getting what we wanted, we settled somewhere in the middle, covering our chests and leaving the rest for the wind. I slept with my hands in my pockets, taking extra layers wherever I could find them. 

Waking up in the morning was colder than sleeping through the night. I hadn’t been woken up to take my watch, but Izaius had clearly been called away. Minimus had snatched the stable blanket while I’d been asleep and added it to his bedroll. He was still snoring while Izaius pulled me away to pick through his bag. A growl from my stomach nearly gave us away as we pulled at the leather straps and rummaged through Minimus’ traveling supplies. Glass jars clinked against candle stubs and strange silver trinkets. Izaius continued to search for sustenance while I pried one of the amulets free. It was a wide, flat circle of metal inscribed with runes, many of which I recognized from Caryll’s notebook. There was easily a dozen of them scattered throughout his pack. It seemed unlikely Odette would have given him so many gifts. 

“Victory.” Izaius whispered, holding a package wrapped in brown paper up next to his wide smile. 

We smuggled our ill-gotten gain down to the river before unwrapping it. A large chunk of salted pork greeted us as the last layer of paper covering was pulled away. It hadn’t been sliced and we had to work pretty hard to tear off manageable chunks. It was fairly dry and mostly tasteless but it was sure to be enough to quell our talkative stomachs. 

“I’m sorry.” I said, struggling to break off another bite. 

Izaius pressed the lump of pork against a rock while I clawed at it, until final I’d torn off another piece. He sucked on the one in his free hand, softening it before trying to chew. 

“What for?” He asked. 

“Minimus.” I replied, “He’s kind of always had it out for me. I don’t want him to be out for you too.” 

“It’s alright. I can handle a brat like him.” Izaius said. “Plus you’ve given me an excuse to get away from the Choir, maybe even for good this time. Once we find out the Runesmith’s secrets we could just keep going, loose Minimus somehow. The world’s a big place, plenty large enough for two hunters to disappear in.” 

“You’re joking.” I said, stating it more because I wanted it to be true then because I believed it was. 

Izaius shook his head, “Of course I’m not joking. I’m serious Yilmarie. Why couldn’t we just run off and not look back. The Choir only wants me for blood, you’ve seen how crazy Doctor Lee is. Why would you want to go back?” 

“Because of all those kids!” I said. “We’ve got to rescue them, and Crane too. If the church knew what was happening they’d put a stop to it. I wouldn’t ever say that Vicar Lanthem and I got along on things, but he wouldn’t stand for something like this.” 

“Of course he would.” He sighed, picking at one of the stones in the stream bank. “People like the High Octave and the Head Vicar can only see the bigger picture. The Prestwick Company slaves are a matter of cost to them, not morality. If he knew that the High Octave was trying to help in the ascendance of a Godschild then he’d just funnel more tithes her way.” He was right. I remembered the letters I’d found, the ones that were still tucked away back in my quarters in Yhar’Ghul. I’d been so swept up by my studies and the things below me that I’d forgotten them. Lanthem had already been in dealings with the High Octave, likely over Kohso. He might’ve just been lined up for the Godschild’s next meal. 

“Sorry.” I replied. 

I was the one saying it now. 

“It’s okay.” Izaius said. He held the rock he’d been working at in his hand now. He’d managed to work it free of its mooring. There were sandy crumbs dusting his palm and the tips of his fingers. “I just…it had been so long since anyone believed me about things. I can’t lose that. I don’t want to go back; I won’t lie to you about that. I really don’t know if I can even stomach it, but if you ask me to I will.” 

“If you don’t want to go back to Yhar’Ghul you don’t have to come with me.” I said. 

“I will.” Izaius said, casting his rock into the stream. “I’m not going to leave you. I promise.” 

No one had ever sworn anything like that to me. I knew the bond between Kohso and I was the kind that time and distance couldn’t break, but it was hard to be without him. It was hard to not know if he was alive or dead, and the soul-twisting guilt that came with my inadequacy at searching for him had matured into full on resentment. I hated him some days. I hated him for leaving. I knew it wasn’t his fault, and that whatever had taken him away was beyond his power to escape but he had still left. 

I couldn’t be mad at Eros because I’d seen him die. My hated for Kohso grew inside me the horrible way that weeds do, starting small but gradually growing until all my memories of him were so clouded over with sadness and anger they didn’t seem worth keeping. He had never promised me he wouldn’t leave, but he owed it to me to come back. I had to find him. 

Izaius’ promise was something altogether new. Going back to Yhar’Ghul, returning to the basement he’d been raised in was steeped in unfathomable terror. He was willing to confront all his childhood demons to stand by my side. He would spit on the people who’d spared him, all for my sake. I wanted to kiss him, or pull him close and thank him until my throat went dry. 

I didn’t do either. I just dipped my head and sucked on the last of our breakfast. We remained by the stream for as long as we could, watching the sun grow brighter and brighter. Any second now it would scald Minimus’ eyes and he would wake up and spoil everything. I wanted to bring this moment back to a candy maker’s shop. If I could set it into one of those taffy pullers I could stretch the time, extending each second into two, working sweetness and elasticity into every minute. There was a chance that the mesmerizing whir of the candy machines could stretch it out for forever, and we’d never have to leave. With so much time I might’ve taken my chance. I could reach for his hand or rest my head on his shoulder, do something to make contact. 

There was no candy shop in the middle of the woods. A moment could not be slipped into one’s pocket like a silver coin. Our time refused to stretch like taffy. Izaius shielded his eyes from the sun and judged we had stolen all that we could. He went to wake Minimus and we continued on our way. 

Going on foot allowed us to take even more remote trails. Izaius pointed out cut throughs and deer trails that shaved hours off our travel time. By noon we had cut away from the river. I was worried about leaving our landmark, but the Choir novice assured me that the path we were on was merely a shortcut and that we’d see the stream again come nightfall. 

Sleep had done a lot for my stamina. Minimus either didn’t notice his missing food or didn’t comment on its absence. He passed us each a bruised apple for breakfast, windfalls he’d picked up along the way. I was fairly certain I’d seen a worm in part of mine, but I ate it anyway. More protein, couldn’t hurt. 

The boots the Choir had issued me were not made for traveling. I began to feel every twig and pebble through the thin leather. When the ground sloped slightly I had to steel myself against the incline, however slight. I hadn’t realized how easy we had it in Yharnam until I had too navigated an unpaved road. Minimus and I lost sight of it constantly. The thin trails weren’t lined with dirt or marked in any way that our untrained eyes could recognize. Izaius navigated them as easily as if there were street signs and fences to guide him. Routinely he could point out hazards to me, gesturing to a slippery rock or an unstable conglomerate of roots liable to cause tripping. Being that Minimus still insisted on taking the lead he walked directly into these obstacles and served as the morning’s entertainment. 

The church novice relented come midday and let the more experienced one lead. I was prodded into a rear position. If he was not going to be able to lead, Minimus certainly wasn’t going to be in last place. Izaius still managed to communicate privately to me, with quick flashes of the hand. The two of them would pass by a bush, and just as Izaius was leaving it behind his finger would dart out and poke one of the leaves. When I came by to inspect it I would be greeted by a clump of blackberries or a fallen apple. There wasn’t time to stop and gather, but no one caught on to a snapped branch here or there. He had a great eye for it, and hands so quick I never saw him take any for himself. He must have though. I would catch his voice changing as he struggled to conceal an especially plump blueberry without Minimus catching on. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t bring any weapons with you.” Minimus was scolding. He had been saying the same thing all throughout the past mile. “Really the fact that either of you think you’ll become capable hunters some day is quite shocking.” 

“I don’t.” I said. 

Minimus turned back to face me. As his head came around I was quick to wipe at my lips, staining the sleeve of my robes red with berry juice. “Excuse me?” 

“I don’t want to be a hunter.” I said, “I’ve decided to go the path of a scholar.” 

Minimus chuckled, “The only people who become scholars are the ones that are too weak to fight….so I guess that suits you perfectly.” 

I should’ve known that trying to correct him would only end up boosting his ego. He grinned and went back to his lecturing. Izaius didn’t seem to mind the telling off Minimus gave him, ignoring it and focusing on the path ahead. The tiny trail worked just as the Choir novice had said it would, well before evening we’d met the stream again. 

“That’s even faster than I expected.” Izaius said with a grin, “We’ve really not too much farther now. I think it might be a good time for a rest.” 

Minimus seemed likely to protest. I took my chance to cut him off. “I do still have quite a lot of translating I need to do. It’s kind of useless if we get wherever we’re supposed to be going then can’t in to the hidden lake.” 

“You can’t translate and travel at the same time?” Minimus asked. 

“If we still had the horses maybe I could’ve.” I shrugged, “But walking is another matter.” 

“I guess we could stop for a few moments.” He reasoned. 

We all went down to the river, cupping our hands and bringing gulp after glistening gulp of clear stream water down our throats. It was cold and refreshing. We were stuck in that weird mid ground between being too hot and being too cold. Everything that was covered by our Choir robes was sweaty and steaming, but our ears, noses and fingers were a different matter. They buzzed with the chill in the air. 

Izaius and Minimus went about filling our flask with fresh water and scouting the area for resources while I worked on the book. Returning to ink and paper after the wildness of the woods was wonderful. There was nothing to stumble on here. I couldn’t conclude whether it was brought on by the chill of fresh air or the impending urgency of finishing the tome before reaching our destination but the work seemed to go faster. I was turning to the right pages of Odette’s codex by instinct, as though I had read through it before. 

I thought it might be the lingering spirit of Runesmith Caryll, guiding my hand and giving me her blessing. She wanted me to translate her notes. I was sure of it. I might’ve been able to get more than a few pages in if Minimus had brought an ounce of patience along with him. When he had finished getting the water he fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot then pacing along the streambank. Izaius returned from his scouting mission a few minutes later. He was holding out the corner of his robes, making a pocket for a pile of walnuts he’d taken off a nearby bush. I’d had to tune out the sound of the two of them smashing the shells against rocks to try and get at the meat inside. 

Like a small child, Minimus was only occupied with this activity for a short time. Izaius feigned trouble cracking the walnuts so that the church novice would have to open the majority of them. This filled more time, but it wasn’t enough. As soon as Minimus had finished his share of the scavenged food he decided it was time for us to get going again. I exchanged my books for a handful of walnuts and ate them as we continued on. 

The symbols on the pages were burned onto my brain. I tried to piece them together as we walked, desperate for a spare moment and a scrap of parchment. If only there were a way to balance an inkwell, two open books and a scroll while handling a quill and keeping pace. If I were infected I had the potential to grow an additional arm, or maybe some wings. It wouldn’t be worth the loss of my wits but it seemed horribly convenient at the time. Thinking about the infection started to cause me some alarm. 

“Hey!” I called. 

They both stopped. Minimus tapped his foot while he waited for an explanation of the delay. 

“Do you have any blood vials?” I asked. 

His face paled, answering me before his words did. “No….I must’ve forgotten to grab them..” 

“What kind of hunter forgets blood vials?” Izaius asked, “How can you expect to be anything but a novice if you make such-“ 

“Shut up.” Minimus barked. 

Even though the mockery had been cut short I laughed. Izaius grinned, but there was something sad stuck in the corner. Blood shortages really weren’t something to joke about. They could be just as dangerous if not more so then over dosing. The transformation was just as likely to take a hunter who didn’t take in enough blood. We were all fully cut and moon-scented, the ministrations were part of our lives now. 

“No need to panic.” Izaius said. “We’re in the woods and we have a hunter’s weapon amongst us. Blood can easily be acquired.” 

“It’ll be a necessary delay.” Minimus agreed. 

Despite having taken a rest not so much as an hour ago Minimis decided it would be okay to make camp for the night. Izaius scouted a secure enough location, near a large rock outcropping. There was a ledge that extended over the mouth of a shallow cave. It wasn’t very roomy but it blocked the wind on three sides and could be easily defended if worse came to worse. I set myself up quickly, taking advantage of the dying light to work with the text awhile longer. 

It’s amazing how something that had been so engrossing just an hour ago suddenly can’t keep your attention a single moment longer. Caryll’s mysterious book held my attention for all of three seconds before my mind started to wander. At first I blamed the sounds made by my traveling companions as they readied themselves for the hunt. 

Even with the loud discussion of strategy and the preparation of weapons there was only so much noise that could be made. I was distracted by envy, not by sound. It was an entirely new and horrible sensation. When they set out into the woods, I found myself wanting to call after them. It was only just this morning Izaius had said he wouldn’t leave. He had broken his promise so quickly. 

I pressed myself against the innermost walls of the cave. The last time a companion of mine had gone hunting in unknown territory the results were disastrous. This night was different from the one in Old Yharnam. Minimus was nowhere near as impulsive as Eros had been, although he seemed to be just as stupid. Izaius was familiar with the territory. He’d brought us through it without any trouble this morning. I tried to remind myself of that. It was a mixture of anxious energy and total embarrassment. I made a dim comparison between myself and one of those nervous weeping wives who sat in candlelit windows waiting for their hunter husbands to return. I’d made a damsel in distress out of myself. What’s worse I was letting it effect my work; all things I’d looked down on other scholars for. How dare anything distract me at a time like this? 

I stared at the words trying to make sense of them with my eyes, while my mind strayed far away. The slow-sinking sun bought me an excuse. Without light I couldn’t read, and it had been more important for Minimus and Izaius to have the lantern. Any kind of fire was dangerous, especially with a bounty on your head. I wanted to light one, for so many different reasons. The crackle of flames popping out the last bit of moisture in the branches would keep the strange night time whispers from tickling in my ears. The warmth of it would banish the cold that came straight through the stable blanket. 

Now that the light was gone I wanted to try at the book again. I ran my hand over the pages, fumbling across as though I could read like the blind did. Caryll’s text was anything but raised. My fingers glided seamlessly over the pages. The ink blended seamlessly into the pulp of the paper, leaving nothing for me to pick up on. I closed the book, and stroked its spine. At least that was something tangible. Pulling the stable blanket tighter over my shoulder I steeled myself against the cold. My corner of the cave grew darker and damper every second. Time became a liquid thing, filling the size and shape of whatever container it willed itself. It refused to conform to any sort of logic and confused me at every turn. 

I couldn’t tell how long they had been gone, all I knew is that I was relieved to see them come back. The hunter’s lantern bobbed in the distance announcing their approach and I watched it come over the stream and towards the mouth of the cave. Izaius had cut a few pine boughs to try and keep the wind from biting so hard. 

Izaius came through first. There was a splash of blood across his face and worked into his hair. He looked a bit more bestial then I’d expected. I had seen him on the hunt back in Yharnam, but appearances hadn’t been important then. Everything seemed to matter now. Even covered in blood his smile was the same. 

Minimus batted at the pine boughs as though they were unseen spider webs. He didn’t move aside the one unsecured piece that worked as a door. I thought I had been a poor traveler and woodsmen, but I truly believed that Minimus would be unable to survive outside a city. I’d be miserable but I reasoned I could do it. 

“Good hunting?” I asked. 

Minimus shrugged. Izaius nodded. “

We found a few carrion crows a half-mile back.” Izaius said, “Minimus wanted to track down something with stronger blood. I reasoned if I had a proper weapon and we had better supplies, a warm camp to return to, then that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Risking injury going after bigger game in our current state would be irresponsible.” 

“Carrion crows are hardly worth it.” Minimus huffed. 

“If you’d taken any blood vials with you then you wouldn’t have to bother with them at all.” I retorted. 

Minimus delivered his typical intelligent and sophisticated come back. It was the same as always, “Shut up.” 

“Anyways.” Izaius continued, “There were four crows. They were easy enough to sneak up on. I ran a distraction while Minimus snuck in and took them out.” 

“I did do most of the work.” Minimus agreed, “And so I took most of the blood, but we’ve left a little for you.” 

Without a proper blood vial injector things had to be done in a more old fashioned way. Utilizing elements from Minimus’ pack the Choir novice strung together a makeshift transfusion system. Of the usable blood Izaius took a sixth of it for himself. I was allowed another sixth, while Minimus took all four remaining portions leaving nothing in reserve. 

“Thank you.” I said to the both of them. 

“You’re welcome.” Minimus spat at me. 

The nod I got from Izaius was sincere. 

New blood brought new strength. It made the night difficult to sleep through. The moon and the wind spoke to us in a language everyone had been born knowing. Something deep within the hearts of minds of hunters that begged them to step out and wander. I volunteered for first watch, and it was readily surrendered to me. Izaius admitted his exhaustion, and I passed him the blanket. Minimus unfurled his bedroll. 

The lantern light ended up being enough to read by. I saw no reason to leave the cave, settling down between both novices and spreading the books across my lap. I translated what I could while my eyes kept open. I got through another page, something about milkweed and other botanicals that Caryll attributed celestial relevance to. There was a whole dissertation on the language of flowers. The pages would be more useful to a pair of young lovers seeking secret communications then a scholar seeking the hidden path to Moonside Lake, but I had to take what I could get. When I could take no more of the botanical talk, I kicked at Minimus’ feet with my own. It took him awhile to stir but he gave me the nod and took his watch. 

The incessant research had tired my eyes. Craning over the books had strained my shoulders and the repetitive turning of pages was enough additional exercise to wear out my arms. Walking was enough to keep my legs from wanting to roam, but there was no amount of activity that could quiet my thoughts. They screamed and oscillated around and around my skull keeping me awake long after my eyes had closed. 

It stayed awake even when I was asleep. I dreamed a dream more vivid and violent then I had ever done before. This came in the form of one of Callie’s Hari Harel stories. I looked the folk hero in the face and was astonished to find, not the blue-eyed simpleton I’d imagined when hearing her stories spoken, but the dark melted-candy eyes of Kohso. The chocolate wasn’t limited to those two spheres but bled through his skin in two dots. I’d never seen anyone else with markings like that, and certainly hadn’t pictured Hari Harel with them. 

If I was of a clear mind when dreaming I might’ve even dared to chuckle. Kohso, wearing an over turned pot on his head in place of a hat, was ridiculous. He was wandering through the desolate town that Ivaday-Avaday had ruled over. Instead of a dry desert everything was starting to be swallowed by sea water. The Not-Kohso was scratching his head, searching for a way to stop the rising tide as it got deeper and deeper. I tried to shout solutions but everything was caught in my throat. All of my warnings fell flat. The water climbed over his shoulders and lapped at the ends of his hair. It was then he snapped his fingers like a vaudeville performer and began bailing the water out of the town using his pot hat. He didn’t seem to realize he was only moving things from one place to another. The water continued to rise and I woke up coughing. 

I was so sure that I had swallowed sea water and was drowning it was hard for sense to come back to me. I had to lay in the night’s deep silence and calm my breathing before the dream sorted itself out. Nothing had been real. No one had drowned, but I was sure I had seen Kohso. I didn’t hate him anymore. I gave my designated corner of the blanket another tug, pulling a little more away from Izaius and trying to manage another dream. 

It was somewhere in the middle of the second day when I first felt something out of the ordinary. I couldn’t put it into words enough to voice the concern to my traveling companions, but it was deeply cemented within myself. It was a feeling of voices, mixed into the wind and unseen footsteps you were constantly treading upon. Life beyond the three of us was lurking, despite it being long dead. I scanned the ground for something I could use as a weapon if worse came to worse. Nothing seemed to hold the promise I hoped it would. Instead the toe of my boot got caught in a particularly troublesome root. I had to sit down and work it free. 

“Keep up won’t you?” Minimus barked. 

“Sorry.” I mumbled back. “

Are you alright?” Izaius asked offering me his hand. I took it, though I could’ve stood on my own. “

Yeah.” I said brushing the dirt off my robes. 

The strange feeling didn’t get any easier to cope with as we continued on. The ominous feeling only got more oppressive as we pushed forward. I could feel my brain throbbing in my skull. Surely a headache was coming on. They always chose the worst times. The air that should’ve stayed cold started to feel uncomfortably warm. It crackled making the same sound as tissue wrapping paper. The sound worked itself deep into my ears, drowning out the snapping twigs and crunching leaves. 

I had to rely on my eyes to keep me on the right path. It took all of my remaining thought process to keep on, I had to ignore the little bits of forest food Izaius pointed out entirely. The blood and breakfast would have to be enough to press on with. Izaius started to glance back at me more and more. I gave him false smiles whenever I caught him, but he must’ve seen through them all. He started asking Minimus for more breaks. 

The church novice gave in frequently. The hunt from the night before had drained him more than he cared to show. I briefly suspected injury but didn’t feel an investigation would be worthwhile. Even if I discovered something it wasn’t like Minimus would’ve let me fix it. His pride was a wound you couldn’t fix and it infected him in ways no one would’ve guessed. 

Whenever we stopped I pulled out Caryll’s notebook and tried to make more headway with it. The script only made the pounding in my head louder. Black ink started to pulse with silver veins. Everything the Runesmith had written started to swim together and became even more unintelligible than usual. Izaius put a hand on my shoulder to voice his concern about my health. I laid my hand over his and gave another strained smile. He slipped me a handful of foraged food; nuts and sun-ripened berries. Some of them had begun to wrinkle due to the lateness of the season. I took them anyway. This was the kind of thing that even a five course dinner would have no influence over. 

“We’re close.” He mentioned. 

“I know.” I replied. 

“Will you be ready?” Minimus asked, pushing his way into our conversation. 

The answer leaned heavily towards the negative. How a few anecdotes about bygone instructors, the mention of a hidden lake and some scattered notes on botany would lead us to salvation was far beyond my grasp. It was a riddle complex enough to puzzle the Great Ones themselves. A whole team of scholars wouldn’t be able to crack it with years of work. I knew that because the Choir had all of that and more at their disposal, yet the Runesmith’s book still went untranslated. How was I supposed to be able to decipher it in the middle of the woods without so much as a proper desk to work on? 

There was no one to hear my pleas. None of the gods who meted out the unfairness of the world saw the need to take away my second helping and ease my burdens. Minimus’ eyes continued to burn at me, begging answer to his question. The only sensible course of action was to tell the truth, buy more time. If I would just admit to the travel strain and the headache and my complete inability to work the night previous I’m sure I’d be allowed more chances to work. 

The truth would’ve bought me time, but I like Minimus had the problem of pride. The stumbling block found its way from the floor to my mouth, contorting my sensible words to nonsense as they spilled from between my lips. “Yes, of course I’m ready.” 

“Excellent.” Minimus said. 

He snatched up Odette’s Codex and flipped away from the page I was referencing. He didn’t mark it and I hadn’t dog-eared the corner. It was a standard habit of mine but I tried to refrain when I was working with borrowed books. I would lose precious time finding my page again. His dirty fingers pawed at the pages. Through the tissue-paper interference I swear I could hear a few of the pages tearing. 

The church novice sought the map. He had to go through the book several times before he spotted it, despite the fact that I’d bookmarked it with a scrap of paper. Once he found it he placed the book on the ground, pages spread. It was agony for a book’s spine to remain stretched to that degree. The ancient binding gave a creak of protestation. 

“Show me where we are.” Minimus snapped. 

I glanced at the map. Cartography had never been my specialty, and while I could generally make out the relative lay of things from a map, anything more specific became a strain. 

“Couldn’t tell you.” I replied. “I’ve left the navigation to Izaius.” 

Minimus rolled his eyes and rummaged through his bag. He opened a small leather journal of his own. I didn’t have much time to take in glances as he bent the spine and let the pages ripple past, stopping at the one he’d desired. A meticulous drawing of the territory we’d come through was etched across three fourths of the page. He’d left the last section blank. Minimus laid his map over Caryll’s making it seem as though someone had pressed a magnifying glass to the ancient ink, allowing us to examine everything in greater detail. 

“I want to be able to find it again.” Minimus said, “Find it without your help, that is.” 

“Why?” I asked. 

“You don’t travel well.” He scoffed. T

here was something in his tone that tipped me off to the lie. I had to constantly remind myself that he wasn’t as stupid as he seemed. The crinkling in my ears buzzed louder, drowning out most of my common sense. I wasn’t in the mood to be confounded and infuriated, but the wellspring of those emotions was standing in unabashed entitlement right in front of me. 

“Nor do you.” Came my childish reply. 

The offended flare of a nostril was nearly consolation enough to stave off the headache. His brow hardened and the expression of jovial contempt hardened into angry concrete. “I can’t fathom how-“ 

“Izaius has guided us the whole way here.” I added. “So don’t get it into your head that you’re some sort of brilliant woodsmen. You had to cede point to him the other day and I’m willing to bet he did the majority of the prey tracking on your hunt.” 

The jaw-drop silence led me to assurance that my assumptions were correct. His eyes burned with ancient rage but I’d manage to best him yet again. I don’t know why I was so hell-bent on it. I had no desire to trek through the woods again, not once I had gotten all of my questions answered. There was no point in making the journey again simply to prove it could be done. 

“So why don’t you try and make yourself useful someplace else?” I concluded. 

Minimus stormed off without collecting his book. I snatched it up along with the Codex. I snatched it up along with the Codex. His drawings and handwriting were much neater than expected. I flipped to the front few pages of the book to see if maybe he had procured it from someone else. There was no book plate, it was devoid of an ex libris inscription or any distinctive markings that would suggest thievery. The journal was less writing and more of the detailed drawings. A lot of the pages seemed to contain designs for devices, coils of wire and several sketches of chairs. Everything was rendered with an architect’s precision. Frequently measurements and calculations were included with the drawings. 

It felt like a dissection. Someone had just peeled away the skin so you could see the inner workings; the actual process of pumping blood. Behind Minimus’ mask was a lot of intense focus. No one without dedication and days spent in the school room could achieve things like this. The contrast made me crazy. He put such care into his designs but had thrown the notebook around as carelessly as if it were a wet newspaper that used to hold fresh fish. It hadn’t stood out to Izaius and I in the cluttered traveling pack, but now it was all my eyes saw fit to focus on. 

As I continued through, scanning each page quickly to get a general feel for its contents before moving on to the next a shift in Minimus’ attention became apparent. There were no lovingly rendered portraits of Odette, nor poems scribbled in-between calculations, but his work took on an altogether softer quality. Something in the lines had changed. He no longer filled the book with furniture but had taken to drawing the silver amulets. When he worked in graphite he even managed to capture the shine of them with appropriate accuracy. 

It didn’t take him long to notice that his notes were missing. As I was engrossed with matching the symbols from his amulets to the ones in Odette’s Codex he stormed back towards me. The notebook was ripped out of my hands so quickly. The tips of my fingers clawed at the graphite, smearing the delicate drawings with messy fingerprints. 

“Just what do you think you’re playing at?” Minimus snarled. 

“Your fault for forgetting it.” I returned. 

Minimus made a show of stuffing the notebook into the pocket of his robes, keeping it at once close to him and far from me. 

I couldn’t help but feel as though it were a bit late for that. I’d already gotten a good look at it. Whatever secrets he was keeping were not entirely unknown to me. None of them arose concern, so I returned to Caryll’s notebook until Izaius called us all back to the trail. He was eager to press on and reach the lake before nightfall. He reasoned once we’d found it all of his concerns about the wear and tear of the journey would fade. He could let his guard down a little. The lake would be another pebbled beach like the stream bank where perhaps we could steal a few more moments together. 

The design language of Minimus’ amulets started to bother me as we carried on. A lot of the symbols bared no resemblance to the ones Caryll frequented. Minimus’ were all curved lines with wilting stems and swirls. They seemed earlier, more primitive then the linear symbols of the Runesmith. Nevertheless, the distant familiarity of them nagged at me along with the apprehension, extra noise and the relentless headaches. 

No one had to say a thing when we reached the location of the rumored lake. The deer trail that Izaius had diligently guided us down terminated suddenly at the sharp face of an enormous cliff. Its rocky façade rose up sharply from the ground. I was no woodsman but I could tell that reaching its summit would be an arduous task. Footholds were few and far between. 

“Is this it?” Minimus asked. 

“This is the exact spot on the map.” Izaius said. I started to flip open to the infamous page but he held out his hand and stopped me. “I’m sure of it.” 

I had to check anyway. There was nothing on Odette’s map to indicate a wall like the one that stood before us. None of the territory we’d passed in recent hours seemed to point to it either. It was large enough to merit marking on a map. There wasn’t the slightest line on Odette’s map or in her notes that mentioned it. The barricade had to be something of an arcane design, placed her for the purposes of preventing entrance. 

Surmounting it would fall to me. 

Minimus and Izaius came to this conclusion far before I did. As the church novice detailed the cliffs location while filling in the final sector of his own notebook, Izaius tentatively placed a hand against the rocky protrusion. 

“It feels like any other rock.” He said. 

“Is it not supposed to?” Minimus asked. 

He shrugged, and turned to me. “What do you make of it, Good Brother Yilmarie?” 

Even in the woods where no one would call him out on it, Izaius kept up the appellations. He had only dropped it down by the stream, tossing formality into the water. Instead of sinking like a stone, it had acted as a boomerang and come back to him the instant he cast it away. 

“Looks like a cliff to me.” I said. 

“This has to be Caryll’s work then.” Izaius said, “I don’t remember there being any cliffs nearby. Nature doesn’t seem to notice it either, look the stream runs right through.” 

He pointed to the small body of water we’d been walking alongside. Where it should’ve hit the cliff and pooled or changed course, it didn’t. The water kept flowing along the same as it always had, going directly into the cliff side. There wasn’t the slightest disturbance to the babbling stream. 

“I’ve never seen anything like that.” Minimus agreed. 

It was as good an indication of the arcane as we were going to get. The signs of sorcery weren’t done, at least not for me. While my eyes had trailed along the stream they’d noticed something familiar on the other side. A strange grouping of flowers was growing on the opposite side of the stream. I stretched my legs to their limits to cross the stream in a single step and inspect the clump of foliage more closely. All of the plants that grew were unaffected by the wind. Even as I came to a shaky landing on the bank, they did not waver. A puff of dandelions blew away, the grass rippled, blades depressing where my boots smashed them, everything else as natural as could be. 

The crinkling in my ears intensified as I knelt to get a good look at them. Every color was stolen from these flowers save red and white. The centers were as vivid as the vials that lined the Odeon Chapel storerooms. By contrast the flower petals could’ve been plucked, freshly laundered from a clothesline as pure and pristine as the day they were purchased. The plants were so strange I was hesitant to touch them. 

“Izaius, can you bring my books across?” I asked. 

I didn’t look up to see his answer, I knew he would come. The flowers were so unlike any I’d seen before that I was completely transfixed by them. A few moments later Izaius’ feet crunched sand as he crossed the bank in a single leap. He placed the books on the grass next to me, taking a few paces back to let me do my work. 

I was glad that I’d plodded through the dull descriptions of plants Caryll had cataloged. I was soon able to identify the strange flowers. They were of the variety known as Coldblood flowers. Caryll hypnotized that the only way to grow them to their full potential was to feed them. Like Doctor Lee’s finicky Godschild the flower was picky about what it consumed and the conditions it was kept in. 

Information that had once bored me right to sleep was now so incredibly engrossing I couldn’t read it fast enough. That was the funny thing about being a scholar, things weren’t interesting until they suddenly were. You could walk past the same books in the same library for years with no intent on ever reading them, until one day the subject had taken you by storm. Then you couldn’t get enough, there was never enough of what you needed. 

Caryll’s text was the only book I had to reference, so I consumed i’s information as rapidly as my rough translations would allow. I double-checked myself several times, sure that I’d mistranslated things. Every behavioral trait of this flower was abnormal and it seemed impossible that anything of this world could grow under the prescribed conditions. First of all, the flower favored moonlight over sunlight. From my rudimentary knowledge of photosynthesis and the life cycle of chlorophyll-based organisms this couldn’t be true. Light was required for the food-making process. 

If Caryll’s research was to be believed, this flower didn’t feed off sunlight in the harmless way that every other plant in the universe did. Instead the Coldblood flower had an expansive system of roots, with the kind of reach you’d expect from a hundred-year-old tree not a small flower. The ones in front of me weren’t much larger than a common pansy. The carnation Izaius had purchased was larger than they were. The root system was how the Coldblood flower found its food. Down at the tip of each of the roots was supposedly a little mouth, with little teeth. The plants were carnivorous, seeking out the creatures that crawled beneath the grass and draining them of their blood. The hungry plants did not limit themselves to worms and small insects but were capable of consuming much larger prey, like rabbits, badgers and other burrowing animals. 

Another note from the Runesmith suggested that the size of the flower was determined by the size of the food it was able to keep itself sustained on. The larger the petals the larger the prey. Caryll had said that one would even tower beyond the size of a hunter if it was allowed to gorge on human corpses. 

“We’re definitely dealing with the Runesmith.” I said. Our journey had come to its end. Somewhere within the pages was the passage to Moonside Lake. Everything was up to me now. Unfortunately leaving things up to me took longer than either of them had anticipated. They did the best they could to remain patient, Izaius’ effort far superior to Minimus’. Minimus couldn’t last beyond a half hour without complaining. Izaius busied him with tasks, reasoning we could start a fire and catch some decent food now that we didn’t have to travel any further. He was certain we’d be beyond the concealed lake gates before anyone could catch us. Smoke rose and changed the scent of the woods. The logs crackled and popped as they caught, making themselves heard above the never-ending crinkling. 

Little by little I came to a startling realization. Runesmith Caryll had intended for this path to remain ever sealed. The flower would serve as it’s guardian. A rune I’d translated along the lines of “gorging” or “blood rapture” was connected to Caryll’s symbol for the Coldblood flower. The more I worked the more I realized. To pass through to Moonside Lake something would need to be drained of its blood. The roots below would shift a system of locks and catches. The arcane spell would be lifted, ancient magic locked inside the mechanisms would be re-awakened after centuries of slumber. 

By the time I had translated my way through this Izaius was trying to restrain himself from looking over my shoulder. He wanted to help but lacked the ability, and I could tell it weighed on him harsher than it should’ve. I never would’ve made it this far without him. Doctor Lee and her search party would’ve sunk their teeth into me before I’d escaped Yhar’Ghul. 

“I need you to go hunting again.” I told the both of them, looking up from my books. 

Minimus glared at me. He was part of the way through a spit-roasted pheasant which one of them had managed to hunt down while I was distracted. He took another bite, smearing grease and black soot from the fire across his face. 

“Why do we need to go hunting?” He muttered. 

“We’re going to need a sacrifice to make it through the barrier.” I informed them. 

They titled their heads to one side, neither comprehending the situation in the slightest. I sighed and waved them over towards the flower. Sighing, they left the warmth of the blaze behind to come over and join me. I used the end of my quill to point at the center of the flower. Izaius was kind enough to hold the lantern over it for our better observation. The red center wasn’t quite as vivid as it had been earlier in the day. 

“This is a Coldblood flower.” I told them. 

“So?” Minimus asked. 

I sighed, but I couldn’t blame him entirely. I too hadn’t seen the importance of the flower before. They were going to need more to go on. “So, it doesn’t grow here naturally. Runesmith Caryll must have planted it.” 

“Surely a sign of Moonside Lake.” Izaius offered with an encouraging smile. 

“Yes.” I said, “But more than that. This flower hides the key to entering the area. Caryll sealed it away somehow, but I think I’ve figured out how to open it. There’s an exceedingly large network of roots when it comes to these kinds of flowers, and Caryll linked the key to them somehow.” 

“What, so we just dig it up? Minimus asked. 

“No.” I said, “There’s no telling what that might do.” 

He gave a huff of indignation. I waited a moment for Minimus to get over himself and then continued. “The Coldblood flower is carnivorous. There aren’t a lot of plants that are, but this one grows in direct proportion to the size of the prey it consumes. We need bigger roots to activate the magic, ergo we need something larger to feed it. So you need to go hunting.” 

“And then that’ll do it?” Izaius asked. “If I’ve translated things correctly.” I said. 

“You ought to have.” Minimus snarled, “Otherwise bringing you along was entirely pointless.” 

“I’m sure he’s got it right.” Izaius said. He reached for the stable blanket. I hadn’t registered it before, but it had been draped over my shoulders while I was working. “We’ll need this for the body.” 

“Of course.” I said. 

He shrugged off his jacket and held it out to me. The fabric didn’t seem especially thick or useful for keeping out the cold. I felt strange accepting it, and as I put it on I felt a twinge of guilt at stealing the remaining warmth for my own. He had been sitting by the fire, making things exceptionally cozy. I moved closer to the flames myself, watching Minimus and Izaius scurry off into the woods once more. There was enough light to continue reading by, and I did my best to apply myself. It was easier on the second attempt to concentrate. They’d come back completely safe the first time; I was certain they would do it again. 

I had finally made it past the flower places and on to the Runesmith’s description of the work surrounding the lake. I wasn’t all too surprised to find that they were researching the children of the Great Ones. Their methodology was more focused on birth then growth however and greatly differed from the work Doctor Lee conducted. Caryll’s notes clearly stated that the subjects of the experiments had volunteered. The Byrgenwerth scholars had discovered a series of elaborate tunnels and tombs beneath some of the surrounding cities. I thought it likely that some of them might have run under Yhar’Ghul. They scavenged them for slugs, believing the secret to conceiving a god was somewhere in the strange creature’s anatomy. 

Extensive work had been made, and there were many deaths. I came to tables upon tables of information with most of the subjects marked deceased. There was one, circled several times that Caryll had put more stock in then all the rest. She thought this woman was sure to be able to help. The scholars had discovered her in the same place as the slugs. She had lived somewhere in the tunnels and spoke of an entire city down there. Caryll referred to her as the Pthumerian Queen. There were plans for a full-fledged investigation. I wanted to skip ahead to see if they’d yet begun. A map or at the very least details about the tunnels appearance would be a starting point to see if they were the same as Yhar’Ghul’s. 

I shook the notion away. Skipping a single page could mean losing out on something of dire importance. I had to keep to the course Runesmith Caryll had set. The Queen seemed to be doing well. There were accounts of her progression in carrying the supposed child to term. It was more detail then I would’ve cared for, certainly more than the church would’ve considered decent for a gentleman to be looking into. I wasn’t sure if they would even condone the ladies knowing so much about the process. Things started to go wrong during the third term. The Queen had begun to weaken and they feared she might die before her child could be harvested. That’s the word she used, harvested like some kind of plant. 

The scholars were preparing to perform an operation, cut the child out before it was too late. They wanted to preserve both of them. Caryll’s sympathies rested with the Pthumerian Queen and she expressed some serious concerns about the scholar’s priorities. The men of Byrgenwerth were ready to sacrifice her if it meant the birth of the god. Certainly their founder, Master Willem, who was getting quite far up in his years by the Runesmith’s account, wanted to see the results of his work before he passed on and was rushing things along a considerable amount. Safety precautions were abandoned, and several surgeons started to move in to the college. 

The final pieces of Caryll’s narrative began to fall into place. She had taken it into her own hands to save the Pthumerian Queen, and decided to seal her away in a secret place. She stole her away in the night and took her to Moonside Lake where she was sure she could put up defenses. She used her own secret research, her unique language of symbols to hide her preparations. None of the other scholars had shown an interest in the Coldblood flowers that had captured Caryll’s interests, save one called Maria, but she seemed to have been put at odds with the Runesmith. Reading past the flower part she was never mentioned again. Her story ended with the flowers. 

The Queen’s did not. Caryll had to look out for her in the wild days of roaming beasts, which was not an easy task. There were hardly any safe places for them, and the Pthumerian Queen was a worse traveler then I. They barely made it to Moonside Lake without running in to disaster. Their arrival was where Caryll’s account of the Queen’s affairs ended. 

My personal opinion was that the Queen had perished despite all efforts and a grief stricken Caryll was unable to record it. There was no wavering of line or tear stained paper to suggest this, but I felt it all the same. Her situation mirrored mine, if this was so. We had both fled scholars for the sake of saving someone else, though Crane and I hadn’t gotten into a friendship as deeply as Caryll and the Pthumerian Queen. She also didn’t have a lost friend to look for, but there wasn’t much separating us beyond that. 

I rubbed my eyes trying to massage some life back into them. I’d been staring at the pages for a good long time, and had even begun to fully comprehend Caryll’s runes. I recognized more and more of them without having to reference the Codex. They were all good signs of progress, overshadowed by a deep concern. 

Minimus and Izaius had yet to return. The fire was starting to die down. I fed it every nearby twig and leave that I could scrounge. It was going to need more substantial fuel if I hoped to keep it going. Night had overtaken the woods, and I wanted to keep the beacon burning so that my traveling companions could find their way back to the barrier easily. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach, which in combination with the headache just put me out entirely. I didn’t touch a scrap of the bird that the other two had left for me. All food seemed repulsive right now. Beyond entrance to Moonside Lake the only thing I wanted was a warm bed to lie down in. 

And the return of my friends. That too. 

I wondered if Runesmith Caryll had had the time to charm the entire area. She was able to plant the Coldblood flower, but there could be other things lurking out there. My studies of the arcane were limited but from the stories that Callie told all manner of strange things were possible. If there were beastly priests that could turn people to stone surely a practiced scholar could come up with a method of getting persons lost in the woods. 

Just as I began to frantically flip through the journal to see what I could dig up on the manner, the two of them returned. Their approaching footsteps had made me grab for Izaius’ knife. I wondered why he’d left it with me so long. Minimus was the only one with a real hunter’s weapon and I knew that Izaius carried other knives but surely having his full set would put him on at least semi-decent footing if an attack was to come. I listened to their approach with marked concern. There was only the sound of steps; nothing dragged the ground as I imagined it should when they hauled a beast back. Perhaps they’d strung it up by its toes and bore it between each other on some kind of spit. Unlikely but possible. I focused on the bushes and anxiously awaited their return. 

They were empty-handed. It was the first thing that I noticed. The second was how angry Minimus was. His whole body radiated rage. Izaius seemed sorely disappointed but there were nights where hunters had to give up without prey. We’d gotten the carrion crow when we really needed it, and when push came to shove waiting for the next night was really not too grievous a sin. They took their seats around the fire. Izaius grabbed a few more branches before settling in, to give the dying blaze more to work with. 

“What happened?” I asked. 

Izaius covered his shoulders with the stable blanket as Minimus’ explained the situation. I would’ve preferred it the other way around. 

“This one was too much of a coward for a decent hunt.” Minimus spat. 

He actually spat, a bit of saliva landing on Izaius’ hand. He’d been aiming for his face but so long as the offense was clearly communicated it didn’t seem to matter that his aim was off. Izaius didn’t say anything. He wiped the back of his hand on the blanket and stared blankly into the fire. 

“What do you mean?” I asked. I wanted to give the Choir novice a chance to defend himself. 

Still Izaius didn’t say a word. He was letting Minimus do all the talking for him without a clever comment or sly remark. Something had indeed gone wrong for Izaius to feel ashamed about a hunt. The sinking feeling in my stomach got even worse. Everything inside me started to twist. 

“There’s prey to be had out there, believe you me.” Minimus began, “And all of it is big enough to grow your stupid frost venom flower.” 

“Coldblood.” I corrected him. 

“Whatever.” Minimus scoffed. “We tracked a whole pack of Greatwolves. They were much bigger and wilder then the sort of stuff you see make its way into Yharnam. Their claws were more curved and their fur was brown instead of gray. I could swear they had more teeth too; though I’ve never really thought to count the typical Greatwolf’s teeth before. Everything about them seemed meaner so naturally I thought that picking off one would be ideal for feeding that thing.” 

“Wouldn’t that be kind of risky?” I asked. “The whole pack could turn on you.” 

“I’m not stupid.” Minimus said, “I wasn’t going to charge in like some sort of madman. No we watched and waited. The Greatwolves were on the hunt. Men seem to be pretty scarce in these woods and we were careful to stay downwind. I didn’t want them to scent the fire and come back here. Turns out there’s not even the slightest chance of that happening.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked. 

“It’s weird.” He replied, “But they seem to have some kind of natural avoidance of this place. Whenever there was anything familiar, any of the deer runs we could use to circle back they’d just turn the other way. The coward pointed it out before I’d noticed it, but there could be no denying it. They don’t like it here.” 

I smiled. I had been correct after all. Caryll had spelled these woods. When I had the time I would have to see if she’d made a record of what she’d use. That type of spell could be extremely useful. If I ever went back to Odeon Chapel I could give it a try in Old Yharnam and try and protect impulsive novices like Eros from meeting their untimely ends. 

“That’s really good for us.” I said. 

“Yeah. Just dandy.” Minimus shot back, “Anyway, the Greatwolves were tracking prey. It was smaller stuff, there was a swampy area with a bunch of drowned men that they found. They did a lot of kind of dancing trying to draw the drowned men up the bank while avoiding getting too deep in the swamp water themselves. It was while they were distracted I proposed our first attack. There was one wolf a good bit smaller than the others, the runt you see.” 

“I thought it was still too risky.” Izaius said. 

Minimus glared at him, but I was glad he had started to talk again. His silence was unnerving. “I didn’t want to rush in and we still had plenty of night ahead of us so I fell back. I was willing to play this one smart. Problem was other people had the boldness to do what we could not, a whole party of woodland hunters came charging through the woods. I’d never seen anything like it before. They drove the wolves into the creek and we watched the bodies we needed seep into the mud.” 

“Did they see you?” I asked. 

“Probably.” Minimus replied. “We kind of stand out. White robes aren’t good for woodland hunts. The point is, if we’d just gone in like I said we would’ve had a chance at them.” 

This complicated thing a bit more then I’d like. If there were woodlanders about there was a chance they’d agreed to participate in the Choir’s search. Waiting another day might bring on more danger then I’d first guessed. There was no place to hide from a Woodland hunter once you were in their territory. They were even better woodsmen then Izaius. 

“He’s right.” Izaius sighed, “I’m sorry I let you down, Good Brother Minimus, even more so to you Good Brother Yilmarie.” 

“It’s alright.” I told him, “It explains why the flower hasn’t grown much at all. If the woodlanders are driving prey into the swamp, it’s probably not getting much in the way of nutrients.” 

“Yes well, luckily for the both of you I’ve thought of a solution.” Minimus said. 

“Oh have you really?” I asked. 

“Results guaranteed.” He assured me. He stood up and brushed the dust off of himself. Izaius and I exchanged a look. He did seem genuinely sorry to have returned unsuccessful. I could only assume this was a leftover response from his Choir days. “I just need to borrow your knife, Izaius.” 

“You’ve weapons of your own.” Izaius countered. 

“It’s the least you could do.” Minimus muttered. 

Fishing in his robes Izaius produced the knife. Its ruby handle reflected the flickering fire, a twin to the one embedded in the knife I carried. Minimus snatched it gleefully inspecting it with eager eyes. He stood behind Izaius, pressing the tip of the blade gently against the pad of his finger, testing for sharpness. 

“It’s a fine blade.” He complimented. 

“Thanks.” Izaius said “It was-“ 

It happened faster than a shot from a gun. One second Izaius’ words were flowing as easily as ever the next Minimus had cut a red line across his throat. Dark blood spilled down red robes soaking into the ground. Izaius’ hands went to his neck as he strained to finish his sentence. 

Minimus had taken my words too deeply to heart. The Coldblood flower required sacrifice and come hell or high water the blasphemous church novice intended to let it drink its fill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	13. 13. The Unlucky Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Kohso, Fwahe and Ludwig. Will they make it out of the Underground Corpse Pile and return from the Nightmare?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think!

Fwahe’s knives were out before Ludwig’s words had sunk in. His status as the founder of my church held no significance to the Vileblood, but it was everything to me. I felt myself splitting in half; torn between what I wanted the High Holy Blade to be and what he was. In the legends, the scrolls I had worn thin with re-reading he was heroic and well-spoken; graceful in carriage and dress. There was nothing graceful about the man coming towards me. His hair was matted, his clothes were filthy and he walked with a lumbering limp. His long face bore more wrinkles then any illustration had bothered to include. Though I was conscious of passing time, it hadn’t occurred to me that he would have aged. It was unsettling to realize that time took its toll on heroes the same as anyone else. 

Then of course there was the issue of the bodies. He was devouring them, there could be no doubt of that. A thousand half-finished meals littered the ground and it seemed that there was no shortage of fresh blood. The churches, Odeon Chapel included, kept sending tithes. Alexandrine Prestwick must’ve spoken true. I was supposed to die here. There could be no denying it now, a thousand others had ended up here meeting their ends at the teeth of the church founder. 

In order to survive I had to either run or fight. I didn’t do either. My feet acted as though they were imbedded in concrete. Not even Fwahe’s frantic tugging could stir me to action. I was desperate to talk to him. Ludwig came towards the pair of us with a sinister glint in his eyes. They were like sea glass, green one minute and black the next. He licked his lips. 

I mirrored him, then recoiled at the metallic tang of blood. I hooked a finger in my mouth, seeking the source. Upon entrance my knuckle was sliced open. I removed it, shaking flecks of blood onto my robe. Tentative exploration with my tongue yielded the startling results. I had grown fangs. Two of them hung down from my upper row of teeth in sharp points. They were twin to the Vileblood’s. If I was given pliers and the time I would’ve ripped them right out. 

“Still nothing to say for yourself?” Ludwig asked. 

He was standing only a few feet in front of us, close enough we could shake hands. Instead my legs were the ones doing the shaking. Fwahe had momentarily put up her knives and was tugging the short chain with both hands, desperate to pull me aside. All my thoughts seemed to be caught in syrup; moving too slow and too sweet to be of use. My mouth whimpered between open and closed, like a door on bad hinges. 

“Won’t you even pray for yourself?” He chuckled. It was a dark sound, echoing through the chamber, enhanced by the sickening rattle of dead bones. 

The prayers came to me with a flash of sudden recollection. I looked up into the High Holy Blade’s eyes. He was so tall I had to tilt my head back in order to meet his gaze. The words came out in a stifled stutter, but I was able to swallow my silence and speak. 

“O…flora of the moon…of the dream,” I prayed “O…oh…l-little ones, oh..f-fleeting w-will” 

Ludwig’s chuckle shook the chamber once more. I clamped my mouth shut and watched with wide eyes as Ludwig drew his blade. It was the same as the one I had taken from Lady Maria’s, down to the bone-hilt hand. The only difference came in condition. The High Holy Blade’s sword was stained. The silk wrappings had gone copper with old blood. There were flecks of refuse all the way down the sharpened metal. 

“Close your eyes.” Ludwig purred, “It will all be over soon.” 

I did as I was told, letting my limbs go slack and giving in to the heavy eyelids I’d struggled to hold open. A second later Fwahe’s shouts brought them snapping open. 

“Church Boy,” Fwahe snarled at me. “Move!” 

She was done waiting for me to take to action of my own accord. The Vileblood drove her head in to my ribcage, shoving her full weight into me. We crashed onto the cobblestones a few seconds before Ludwig’s sword sparked against them. The fiery outburst prompted danger to register somewhere deep in my brain. On the basest instinctual level, I was beginning to comprehend the severity of the situation. Clear reason and thought couldn’t be much further behind. For the time being I could only seem to react defensively, following behind the Vileblood as she dragged me away from danger. Her bare feet were as sure footed as anything, gripping the stones beneath the blood and springing away from Ludwig’s sword with a feather-light touch. I followed after her as best I could, routinely banging my shins into piles of bone and half-tripping in the sewage. 

Ludwig’s sword slashed through the skeletons. Shards of bone ricocheted through the chamber. They hit me in the shoulders, arms and legs. The thick fabric of the Holy Blade robes was woven tight enough to keep most any shrapnel from breaking through. The only hits that drew grimaces of pain were the ones that caught Fwahe. Tough as her inhuman skin was, a shattered rib to the face still didn’t feel too nice. 

I was keeping her from retaliation. She didn’t feel confident in her cache of weapons to waste any in throws. She also didn’t feel confident in the speed of my evasion, thus couldn’t bring herself close enough to attack. We sped a few steps ahead of Ludwig as we flitted around the ghastly mausoleum locked in a game of cat-and-mouse. 

He wasn’t graceful but he was gaining on us. I could feel sparks biting at my ankles from his latest swipe of the sword. I’d barely missed this one. I put on an extra burst of speed to regain some distance, but in my haste I sent Fwahe sprawling. She’d been tripped up by the infernal chain, landing face-first in the partially congealed lake. There was no time for confliction over whether or not to intercede on her behalf. If she was killed I couldn’t drag her through the blood quick enough to save myself, so she had to live. 

I wrenched the Holy Blade from its scabbard. The chamber run with the satisfying sound of metal sliding along metal. I took the hilt in both hands, each of my palms fitting neatly inside one of the bone joints. Ludwig brought an overhand swing slicing down towards Fwahe. I took my stance and met it, the force of the blow shaking me down to the tips of my toes. The power of the High Holy Blade was astounding, and he had only been wielding the sword with one hand. I tensed, bracing for the next blow. 

I didn’t have to. 

“Let’s go!” Fwahe shouted. 

She had gotten up in a flash, a few seconds all that was required to regain her composure. Blood was smeared across her face and chest, soiling her new found clothes before they’d had a genuine chance. She looked truly devilish. 

We were back to bobbing and weaving around the corpse piles as before, but now Fwahe’s eyes scanned for openings. We were racing around one of the larger piles of skeletons. Rather than charging through it, the High Holy Blade rounded it with us. Fwahe lunged forward in her long-legged deer’s gait, which I was able to keep pace with, if not match. She was able to get a swipe in at his back, clipping his shoulder with sharpened siderite. Ludwig howled in surprise and pain, unleashing an ear-splitting high pitched whine. I’d only heard that noise from Cleric Beasts before. 

He swung his head around just as I was fumbling with my sword in order to launch my own attack. The handle slipped and as I struggled to regain it, a spiked shard of bone split my palm open. I grimaced in pain. The sword continued to slip, I smeared blood down the flat of the blade until I was able to tense my uninjured hand and regain control. 

Ludwig’s lips drew back in a snarl. Sea glass eyes narrowed to angry slits as he spun his own blade in a display of superior handling and control. His strike was coming, as was our next dash to safety when everything stopped. The blade of my sword started to glow, changing from ancient folded steel to an ethereal display of green and blue lights. It looked as though a blacksmith of the gods had melted the northern lights down and poured them into the blade, doubling its size and weight. I was just as stunned as Fwahe and Ludwig; wide-eyed in disbelief at the transformation. 

The hatred left Ludwig first. His dropped his own blade. It made a splash when it hit the soiled ground, but the sound took a back seat to the awed silence. I swallowed and lifted the blade with both hands. If the strange blessing was our only leverage against an adversary of Ludwig’s strength, I was going to play it off as best I could. I would have to seem confident, chosen and ordained to wield this arcane blade. 

“How…” Ludwig stammered, slack-jawed. His face seemed longer and more wrinkled than ever. Age was bleeding through astonishment and the reverence I’d attributed him. 

“I was marked, sir.” I said turning my face towards him so he could see the two moles on my cheek. They’d given me nothing but trouble before, maybe now they would be useful for something. Ludwig’s weathered hands clawed his own face as he searched under his eyes for markings of his own. 

As he worked his face contorted in painful expressions. There was something about them that didn’t seem fully human. The skin shifted like there were bugs beneath it, running all through his body and shoving flesh around as they went. Everything was just a little too skewed. When the High Holy Blade concluded that he had not been marked he gave another devastating shriek. Fwahe cringed and made as if to plug her ears. If I wasn’t trying to seem saint-like I would’ve rolled my eyes at her. 

“You’ve got to let me pass, sir.” I said. 

“How could they have chosen you?” Ludwig snarled. His whole face rippled mutating from sadness to rage. The change was a gradual one, first an angling of the eyebrows then a curling of the lip, piece by piece he was transformed. The pulsing sore on his neck throbbed faster. “You who hasn’t kept yourself pure. You have given into the perversion, the overindulgence, the sickness of bloodlust.” 

“Same could be said a-“ Fwahe started. 

I slammed my foot down on hers as hard as I dared. Lying was not a specialty of mine at the best of times. It would be made altogether impossible if I was going to be undermined by a Vileblood. I didn’t need to see her glare to feel it burning into me, but the glowing blade seemed to have gained a semblance of respect out of the impertinent creature. She allowed me to continue. 

“I…am like this so that I…can better understand the struggles of my fellow men.” I said. 

“You reek of infection.” Ludwig sighed. 

“It is the will of Mother Kos that I should, sir.” I said. 

“By our deeds we honor her.” Ludwig said. 

I repeated the sentiment and nudged Fwahe to do the same. Her voice was anything but penitent and full of reverence. The High Holy Blade didn’t seem particularly keen on detecting tones, which might have been the greatest gift we’d been blessed with. I didn’t have to worry about her sarcasm being the death of us. 

“So you understand, I’ve other tasks to attend, sir.” I said. 

The High Holy Blade wasn’t going to let me go that easily. I should’ve guessed as such. He took a protective step towards the door. Neither the Vileblood nor I had noticed the alternative entrance before. The far end of the chamber branched off into arching tunnels, shadowy and ill-lit. All was not solid walls of brick. We would not be forced to make our retreat back through the nightmare hospital, having to hope for the best with Lady Maria. Fwahe and I exchanged a glance. We were both of the same mind in terms of where to run. Now it was just down to the when. 

“Let me see your blade.” Ludwig demanded. 

I didn’t want to surrender it, having been without a proper weapon for so long made me unnaturally attached to this one. Now it was the Vileblood’s turn for nudging and subtle hints. She dropped her gaze to her knives then back up to me. She’d come to my defense if something went wrong. Trusting a Vileblood for protection and harboring suspicions about the highest member of the Clergy. Claiming Mother Kos’ protection was laughable. I allowed myself a nervous swallow before turning the hilt of the blade towards Ludwig. 

There were a thousand things that could go wrong. I had no idea why the blade had started to glow, and it could very well continue in the hands of someone else. I got the sense it wouldn’t though. Something whispered in the back of my brain, assuring me that all would be well. It was not a voice I had ever thought in before. I could conjure many different persons’ if I devoted the effort to it. Most of the prayers I internally recited were thought in Head Vicar Lanthem’s cadence. Some of the admonishments I gave myself were rife with Sister Veera’s personal accent. This one was faint, fleeting and oddly melodic. Nothing was spoken in meter and rhyme but there was a musical quality to it, as foggy yet familiar as childhood songs. I trusted it. 

Ludwig snatched it up greedily. The instant the exchange was complete, the second my hands were entirely eclipsed by his, the beautiful light went out. He held a blade just like his own once more, albeit bearing a different pattern of bloodstains. Ludwig let out a third wail. He shook the hilt of the blade, like a child with a broken tin toy who somehow believes that violent jostling will solve all of their problems. The light did not return. He threw my blade down, splashing us both with stale blood. I stooped and retrieved it. 

The glow did not return for me either. 

Slowly Ludwig’s face contorted into confusion. He took a moment to muse on his words before speaking. “Do it again, Marked One.” 

“Yes..well..uh…sir..” I stammered. 

I bit back the urge to shake the blade myself. It was a nervous impulse, and I would restrain myself and overcome it. This was about control. It had to be. I closed my eyes and willed the glow to return. My breathing slowed and I brought to mind every holy thing I’d ever heard tell of. Images of gods, scrolls and candles phased in and out of my mind. I chanced an opening of one eye to peek at the blade, but it remained as dormant as ever. 

“Lies!” Ludwig snarled at me, scrabbling in the disgusting lake for his own sword. “All of it, Lies! You were not chosen! They would never choose a wretch like you who can’t even clean the dirt from his face! You dishonor Mother Kos and my holy order!” 

“No sir!” I protested. “Please just give me more time!” 

Ludwig’s search through the gore became more frantic. He tossed aside whole skeletons, they hit the wall with the same sickening thud that Thompson had. 

“Your time is up!” He bellowed. The High Holy Blade had found what he was looking for. The sword rose from the swamp-like depths coated in crimson. 

“Make it glow!” Fwahe hissed at me. 

“I can’t.” I whispered back. 

“Useless.” She muttered. She took a second to judge the distance then sent one of her twin blades sailing neatly into the High Holy Blade’s foot. He fell backwards, just as the cunning Vileblood had intended. We started for the exit in the same second. I lost one of my shoes as we sped away, and didn’t so much as half-turn back for it. Bones bit into bare feet and were then coated in every bodily fluid loosed in the grips of death. It stung, but I had already caught the worst disease one could be afflicted with, a few more ailments wouldn’t make much difference. 

“Blood.” The strange melody in my head started to chime, singing it out over and over. “It’s all to do with blood.” 

Of course it was. 

Ludwig’s sword which had drunk so much of his enemy’s blood as to be swallowed in it wasn’t imbibed with the true potential of a Holy Blade. Sacrifice was one of the bedrock principals of the Healing Church. Ludwig had forgotten his own creed. I slid my bleeding palm down the flat of the Holy Blade once more and the glow returned. 

“Couldn’t have done that three bloody seconds ago?” Fwahe growled. 

“I’m sorry!” I shot back, swinging the blade around to take a stand against Ludwig. The weapon surprised us once more as a half-circle of blue-green light shot out from the edge. The beam sailed across the room. It sliced into the far wall, turning sturdy cobblestone to crumbling powder. A black scorch mark remained after the light faded. 

Ludwig blinked, once more astonished by the power of my blade. He’d been watching me far more closely this time. He slid the silk wrappings down the length of his blade, sponging off all of the deadmen’s blood and cleaning the sharpened steel for the first time in ages. He inspected the handle before finding the same tiny point that had pierced me on accident. Ludwig intentionally slit his palm and grinned as he slid his blade across his bleeding hand. The same light that had consumed my blade coursed through his. Our weapons were twins once more. 

“Ah, you were by my side all along.” Ludwig said. 

Fwahe and I had nearly made it to the exit tunnel while the High Holy Blade admired his new weapon. He made a test swipe, his face rippling in delight when one of the blue-green beams shot towards us. Fwahe and I dove to the floor, dodging a shot that was never meant for us in the first place. He was aiming for an iron portcullis over the arching door way. Fwahe and I made a dash for it, but gravity triumphed over us before we’d gotten a proper start. Iron spikes slammed into the ground each sending its own separate ripples across the floor. 

Ludwig laughed as Fwahe and I pressed all our strength against the gate, straining to push it open. It was dripping with hope. Combined, our efforts were enough to at the very least shake it, enough to make the cast iron move. It was a cumbersome thing, hard to get the proper grip on and harder to get footing in the scarlet sludge. I felt if I could just get my shoulder in the right place I could wedge the great thing open. 

“Use the sword!” Fwahe barked at me. She had both her hands wrapped around the iron spikes legs splayed as far as they would allow. There was an incredible amount of muscle in those limbs of hers which she didn’t cover with any semblance of propriety. I doubted it, but couldn’t ignore the possibility that all women had legs like this and I’d simply never been around one scandalous enough to cause me to notice. 

I let the sword have more of my blood then swung it at the gate twice, slicing in twin diagonals to make an X. The iron hissed as it melted, then started to creak. Ludwig was charging towards us, slathering his sword with enough blood to blot out the holy light. Fwahe and I flung ourselves at the bars once more, until they finally gave way. A few of the bars relented and fell in clattering echoes down the mouth of the tunnel. The opening they gave us was slim, but Fwahe judged she could fit. I worried the same would be impossible for me, but as the Vileblood pulled me through I realized I’d slimmed down considerably since that night in Old Yharnam. I had to manage a good amount of shoulder-wiggling to shimmy through but I was past the iron in a moment, stumbling down the tunnel after Fwahe. 

My breath came in ragged gulps, but slid through a smile. I couldn’t believe I’d managed that, and all the while maintain my hold on the astonishing sword. Ludwig howled behind us, but given his overgrown size he’d get stuck in the tunnel if he tried to charge after us. When we reached the mouth of the tunnel, I stopped short, leaning against the slick cobblestones. 

“Don’t die on me, church boy.” Fwahe said. 

“I’m not.” I panted, sucking fresh air in through my nostrils. “I’m not I swear. It’s just so good to get that scent out.” 

The air that met us outside wasn’t particularly fresh, but after the corpse collection it might as well have come from a flower shop. Warm sticky blood soaked the both of us. We pried shards of bone out of unexpected places. Fwahe untangled a segment of spine from her hair while I pried finger and toe bones out of the belt that held my scabbard. The cold never felt so good, Ludwig’s chamber had been hot with bodies and stale blood. My breath came out in white clouds, wind chilling the patches of sweat I’d generated. Nothing could’ve been more refreshing. 

“No more doctors.” Fwahe declared. 

“Speak for yourself.” I panted. “I’ve got to fix this.” 

Fwahe looked me up and down. Everything she’d overlooked must’ve now become clear. The feathers had spread up my neck to mingle with my hair. Light brown strands now appeared covered in soft snow. My lips were routinely sliced by my new fangs, staining my mouth as red as the ladies on Red Street painted there. My nails-gone-claws made small scratches along the hilt of the Holy Blade. 

“Seems we’re both monsters now.” Fwahe assessed. 

I shook my head. “There’s cures…remedies…even some prayers. The healing church has ways. They can turn this around.” 

Fwahe shrugged, “I don’t care.” 

“Honest they do.” I said. 

“The only person you’re trying to convince is yourself.” She quipped. The truth of her words cut into me sharper than any bone shard. I gave her slack-jawed silence rather than a response. Her scarred face broke into a satisfied smirk. 

Once the both of us had taken a moment to rest we surveyed the land that lay outside the tunnels. Dirty water ran between rolling hills. The hills appeared to be covered in whirls of wheat. Upon closer inspection it turned out they weren’t hills at all, merely strange rock formations covered over with linear swirling lines. The patterns seemed too perfect to have occurred naturally, yet I couldn’t fathom someone taking the time to apply them by hand. What purpose would that serve? 

“Any idea where we are?” I asked the Vileblood. 

She shook her head. 

“Great.” I sighed. 

I was at a loss for where to head. I hoped Fwahe would take the lead and I could just follow behind her but she didn’t start out. Neither of us took a single step beyond the tunnel’s final arch. 

“Suppose there’s no harm in staying here for the night.” I ventured. 

As I spoke I removed the silk from my blade. It was still fairly tainted but better bandages were unlikely to appear. I wrapped it around my palm several times and pulled a tight knot to stem the flow. 

Ludwig was locked up at our backs. Whatever dwelled in this unknown territory was likely to know of him and with any scrap of luck avoid this area entirely. We weren’t going to find safer conditions. I didn’t relish the idea of a monster at my back while I slept, nor did I think partially bloody cobblestones made for the best bedding. A church wasn’t going to fall out of the sky and offer me better. Fwahe gave a nod of confirmation. I set down the sword, extinguishing the blue-green light. I made a mental note to be careful of that lest it unintentionally give away our position in future encounters. I said a prayer, so quick and short that Fwahe didn’t have time to snap at me before it was finished. It was the same prayer I’d begun in Ludwig’s chamber. 

“Let this hunter be safe, and find comfort. Let my dreams foretell a pleasant awakening.” I said. 

I used my folded hands in place of a pillow and collapsed against the damp stones. They soaked into the back of my robes as I drifted to sleep. Every bit of my body breathed a sigh of relief as I finally allowed it to rest. 

My dreams were vivid and full of gods. Shattered chunks of cosmos littered the ground like crystals. I walked through a cavern of stars. There were galaxies small enough that I could hold them in the palm of my hands, and single stars spread out over multiple towering crystals that were as thick around as tree trunks. Throughout the cave they sparkled, reflected themselves in my eyes and layering mirrored reflections on the floor. My scuffed boots seemed a horrific intrusion on the mosaic of shining marbles, eggshell, champagne and cream. All of them, colors that were sure to show stains. They were polished to a shine that ballroom floor-cleaners would’ve been proud of. If I were in my socks I could’ve slid from end to end with ease. I almost wanted too, but it seemed a grossly childish action for a place so refined. 

The same sparkling tune, like distant summoning bells was all around. I smiled. The thousands of bells playing in combination was the most enchanting thing. In a blink I too was transformed. The robes of the Holy Blade melted away and I found myself in an ivory frock coat and stark white cotton breeches. My hair had been cleaned, pulled back and tied with a white ribbon. I reached up to feel for feathers and found them gone. 

I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Hello?” I called into the vastness of the cavern yet un-walked. 

In response the bells were joined by the energetic sawing of violins. The sounds culminated into an elegant tune that I somehow recognized; the waltz. I had never learned the steps, but as I started towards the sound I felt no trepidation. 

“Pardon me.” I continued to call as I navigated the narrowing chamber. At times I had to turn myself sideways and slide past a particularly obstructive crystal. “I seem to have forgot my invitation.” 

Deep inside the cave was just as bright as towards the mouth. There wasn’t a single candle or gas lamp installation but everything kept a warm glow about it. The heavenly crystals had their own light sources and shadows but they weren’t effecting the rest of the cave. Shined shoes clicked against the polished marble. I glanced down and grinned at new leather boots, freshly polished. I’d worn secondhand ones for as long as I could remember, and these were far nicer than any of those had been, even at the time of purchase. Their gold buckles could’ve doubled as a looking glass. There was no fear of leaving the floor messy wearing shoes like these. 

The narrow chamber began to widen. I had been careful not to slice my new clothes on the points of the cosmic crystals, but I was glad to have a bit more breathing room. That’s when another revelation hit me. Glancing once more towards my feet I was awash in fresh delight to find not the slightest trace of the siderite cuffs. I hadn’t stumbled once because I was unhindered by the Vileblood Fwahe. I increased my speed and was astounded to find myself as sure-footed as ever. I had started to grow worried about how much I’d been stumbling. It was all her fault; I hadn’t had a thing to worry about. 

The tunnel terminated in a glittering ballroom. The cave had saved its best crystals for a shimmering chandelier held together by fine whispers of metal filigree. I stepped into the center; turning my head around to look at the arching balconies that surrounded me, carved from the rock and inlaid with stones. Tapestries dangled from the second level, woven with thread that shone in the light. There wasn’t an ancient story to be seen amongst them, but rather a depiction of my own life. Here was Alfred, a swaddled child in one hand and his Logarius Wheel in the other, glancing over his shoulder while a town fell behind him. I saw my first communion, my graduation from Sister Veera’s school program. There was even a flag that bore Captain Roshin Vithiril’s entire crew - all of them dancing merrily aboard the Searider Falcon. 

The most recent event showcased in hand-stitched cloth was the acquisition of the Holy Blade sword. I was surrounded by a halo of cosmic light and held the sword above my head with both hands. The dead and dying corpses in Ludwig’s chamber were depicted cowering from the sight, although that hadn’t been quite how it happened. 

The music was swelling now. The bells and violins were joined by so many other instruments, things like pianos and the lilting song of flutes. For as many sounds as I could put a name to, there were ten more that I could not. An entire unseen symphony filled the ballroom. I turned around and around trying to locate the musicians. After looking in every direction except up, I turned my head above. The sparkling chandelier shivered. I squinted, trying to assess what might’ve caused it to move. As I inspected the beautiful light fixture, it began to swing. It was gradual at first but by and by it was moving from one end of the ballroom to the other. The fine chain that had kept it aloft suddenly snapped. 

I watched the beautiful triumph of form and function hit the unyielding cave floor. The crystals were obliterated, sending powdered stars spewing across the dance floor. The music stopped with a staggered abruptness. Sour notes spent their last echoes down through the balconies. I cringed. 

When I turned back up towards the ceiling, the carved stone had clouded over with the most magnificent nebula of them all. I strained to see it as it expanded from a single point, billowing black purple and pink, speckled with stars. When it had filled the entire ceiling it started to pucker and strain, as a thin fabric sack will when overstuffed. Something was trying to break through. 

I watched it happen; blinking in stunned fascination as the object took shape. Scratching its way free of the smoke-wisp clouds and pinhole stars was an enormous hand. Six clawed fingers poked their way through the cosmos as the giant creature reached down into the cavern. Once the hole had been broken through I could see what lay beyond. I took in the craggy landscape of the thousand-eyed Amygdala. Several of its orange eyes glanced down at me. The Amygdala rested its hand on the floor and opened its fingers. It was only one of the several spider-like limbs that were common amongst this breed of ancient god, but even alone it was astounding. It curled its sixth finger at me, calling me closer. 

It was all the encouragement I needed. The echoing of my boots replaced the chamber’s music as I came towards it. It allowed me to brace my hands against its fingers as I navigated the divine topography of the god’s own skin. Its finger prints ran deep enough for me to dip my fingers in, making easy grips on the swirling patterns. I reached its palm and stood out against the darkened skin like a single snow flake on a dark wool mitten. There was a rush of air as the Amygdala lifted me out of the ballroom. I watched the glittering crystals disappear as I was pulled out of the cave. 

I turned away from the place that I had been to look at the face of the god. I was reminded of the kraken, and how enormous an eyeball could be in comparison to a full grown person. With so many eyes and such enormity of frame, the god knew a thousand things that I did not. The Amygdalas were keepers of a thousand hidden rules and sacred stories; knowledge that had once belonged to man but was taken away. We had shown ourselves to be unworthy and the Amygdalas had risen to protect that which was forbidden. We spent several moments blinking at each other. I thought about praying, but was at a loss for what would be most appropriate. 

I could’ve stayed in that moment forever. 

“Gods damn it.” The Amygdala said. It began to shake me violently, jostling my body as a gambler with dice. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Wake up Gods damn it! Wake the fuck up!” 

I had always heard it told that the Amygdalas were silent watchman but this one had a mouth as foul as the Vileblood’s. On second thought it spoke with the same accent and inflection as the Vileblood. When the Amygdala spoke again the world started to go fuzzy. The cosmic haze I’d been pulled up into evaporated. The orange eyes of the Ancient God were replaced by the unsettling golden glow of the wide-eyed Vileblood. Her clawed hands were ripping at my shoulders as she wrenched me back and forth. 

My scalp itched. 

The feathers were back. 

A quick sniff was all I needed to dispel the myth of fresh clothes. It was just a dream, the same as Mother Kos and the crystal sea. Wearily I reached up and pushed at Fwahe’s arms. 

“Let go of me.” I muttered. It was half-drowned in a yawn but she seemed to get the message all the same. Her grip on my shoulders loosened but didn’t abate completely. Her hands hovered. I shoved at them again. “What’s so urgent?” 

Fwahe gave a nervous chuckle unable to resist mocking me despite her frantic state. “Are you blind, church boy?” 

The word started to fill in but nothing made sense. I had been dreaming before, of that much I was sure. We had fallen asleep in the entrance to Ludwig’s tunnel. The damp stones and faint scent of old blood and dead rats were what I’d anticipated awaking to. Instead I was greeted by my first breath of clean air in weeks. It came rushing at me in cold gusts, just like in the dream. The ground below us seemed to be shifting too. There were pillars surrounding us, but we were moving. 

They weren’t pillars. There were six of them and they were fingers. Fwahe and I were in a giant hand. Her eyes got wider and wider as the wind got colder, as we started to gain altitude. I grinned. 

“Don’t worry.” I told her, “It’s just a dream.” 

Fwahe snarled and dug her nails into my shoulder. It hurt enough to get me to yip like a small dog. 

“What was that for?” I asked. 

“Isn’t that what they say to do?” Fwahe asked cocking her head to the side. Her words came out a little strange, I wasn’t used to her nervous undertone yet. The same far-away accent that Lady Maria spoke with, something impossible for me to place seemed to well up in her own speech when she was frightened. “Pain doesn’t work in dreams. You have to test it.” 

“Yeah but they say to pinch yourself not claw someone’s shoulder off.” I muttered. 

“It’s still attached.” Fwahe said with a dismissive shrug. 

I ducked under her arms and scooted to the edge of the Ancient One’s hand. Fwahe unleashed a slew of protests and profanity, but I let all of it fall by the wayside. She was reluctantly dragged closer to the drop-off. I was reminded of the proverbial cats-stuck-in-trees as I watched the Vileblood. Had she any fur, I was sure it would be standing on end. Replace the curse words with hissing and the image was the same. 

My fingers sunk in where they would as I braced myself on one of the six fingers. It was easy to pull myself up and get a face full of fresh wind. We were miles from the abandoned villages and rotting corpses. I couldn’t smell the faintest whiff of death or sea water. The ground spread out beneath me, mile after mile. The world looked like one of Sister Veera’s hand sewn quilts. Farms came in square patches; houses were rectangles with triangular roofing. Everything beneath us was reduced to its most basic form as we soared higher and higher. The exhilaration I had felt while running across church roof tops was nothing compared to this. 

“Fwahe, you’ve got to see this!” I shouted over my shoulder. 

“Drop dead!” She spat back at me. Her nails were dug into the enormous palm so fiercely I worried they’d draw blood. The last thing we needed was to be flung to the ground. There would be no surviving a drop from this distance. 

“Afraid of heights?” I asked with a smirk. 

She glared but the answer came through just the same. I laughed. I couldn’t believe that this was really happening, just as it had in my dream. Leaning against the finger I turned back, looking beyond Fwahe. I wanted to see it, look into its eyes and be certain beyond certain that I was really truly in the hands of the Ancient Ones. 

I was not disappointed. 

High, high above our heads and partially hidden by clouds was the great creature’s porous head. Every divot was full too brimming with orange eyes. They noticed my gaze and tilted towards me. There was something deeply familiar about them, something in their set and sparkle. They almost looked shy. I grinned and lifted my arm to wave at the creature, like a child at a parade float. What else could be done? 

As I turned back to watch the ground go by another gust of wind hit me. This one carried a peculiar smoky scent. I inhaled as deep as my lungs allowed, breathing in until they burned. When I exhaled the burning didn’t go away. I had to tighten my grip as I was overcome with coughing. The air was toxic and choking, yet I still strove to place the scent. Fwahe was coughing too. 

“Not so great anymore huh, church boy?” she choked. 

I pressed the cloth of the high collared Holy Blade robes to my nose. “What do you mean?” I asked from behind the cover of cloth. 

“Incense.” Fwahe lamented. 

Of course it had been incense. The familiarity of the creature’s gaze struck me like a bolt of lightning clear through the heart. Somehow this Amygdala, this creature of the heavens reminded me of the gentle apothecary back home. Our whole church had found protection in Yilmarie’s purifying smoke remedies and I had done all I could to string them throughout the city so that they would put off whatever beasts might’ve wandered in. It was a shame I was now one of the ones with tears in my eyes and suffocating smoke in my lungs. 

I was desperate for the comfort of a friend. I had been away from Yharnam for the first time I could remember. Though Alfred assured me I came from beyond the Black Salt Sea and I may very well have just seen the remnants of my home and I didn’t get any sense of warmth from them. The cobblestones and white wax candles, the ancient scrolls and sanctifying sermons were what I missed. Polished wooden pews and a bed with freshly laundered sheets, breathing in the incense was breathing in all of them. I cast aside the pain and let the cloth drop from my face. I took in every breath that I could gulping in the air. It was a hard thing to try and swallow when so much wind is billowing in your face to begin with. No matter how much I took in I didn’t seem to be breathing at all, still hungry for more. 

My lungs felt like a blacksmith’s form, slowly filling with meticulously tempered iron. Every breath just brought a different shade of heat. First there was a soft yellow glow, then it was eclipsed by an orange sting which deepened to a red hot burning before being completely overtaken by white hot pain. I coughed and hacked like so many of the degenerates in the Red Street opium dens before I forced myself to replace the cloth covering. I did not have the tolerance for heat that they did. I could only take so much. Smoke came out of my mouth with every cough. Tears streamed down my face. My chest felt like it was being cooked, but behind the collar of my robes the smile remained. 

The Amygdala crawled across the world without disturbing so much as a shrub. The Ancient One had eight arms just like a common spider. It’s first was being used to carry us but the other seven skittered across the world without a shred of concern. Whenever it seemed as though it would crash into one of the buildings below the foot or hand or claw as it might be would just hover a few inches above it. I squinted, trying to see if it ever really did touch the ground but we were far too high up to tell. 

I found a comfortable place to sit in-between two of its fingers, the ones in the middle turned out to provide the least obstruction and the best view. There was a large flap of skin that functioned almost like a hammock or bench would. The Amygdala didn’t seem disturbed in the least by my choice of view point and was content to carry on without so much as the slightest twinge of pain. 

We traveled a few minutes longer. A ribbon of river flowed beneath us, glittering a sapphire blue. I’d never seen water so clear in all my life. The shades of the water called to mind the holy light of my new sword. My body went rigid in a moment of pure panic. What if I had unwittingly left the sword behind? I reprimanded myself for not sleeping with the holy relic strapped to my back. I’d wanted a comfortable sleep, no matter the cost and it seemed like it had been a fairly steep price. 

I looked over my shoulder. Fwahe was still clinging to the Amygdala’s palm, though a little less intensely then before. A few feet from her laying comfortably where the joints of his thumb met the rest of his palm was my sword. It was there, scabbard and all. I clambered over to retrieve it. My steps were staggered, the cuffs still as secure as ever. I wondered if I might be able to ask the Ancient One to break them for us. If a Kraken could do it, surely so could this creature of the cosmos. 

Then again, I already had a cosmos at my command. The favor might not be required after all. I could break the infernal chains myself using the holy light from the sword. My grin only widened. 

“What are you so happy about?” Fwahe growled. 

“I can break the chain.” I said tilting the sword towards her. 

The Vileblood’s eyes sparkled with hope. The corners of her mouth were tugged into a reluctant grin. “Do it.” 

“Now?” I asked. 

“Of course now!” She scoffed, “If you think I want to be chained to you a single second longer you’re even dumber than-“ 

I waved a hand to cut her off. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I think I’ve heard this one before.” 

I slid the sword out of its scabbard. I was astonished to find it was still just old metal. The small spike of bone required to turn it into something otherworldly was nearly invisible, cleverly worked into the carvings on the cross guard. It was a little easier to see without the silk wrappings, but not by much. If I’d never stumbled I doubted I would’ve ever seen it. 

“Get on with it.” Fwahe barked. 

“Maybe I’d better not.” I said. I set the sword down and fiddled with the makeshift bandage wrapped around my palm. 

Fwahe rolled her eyes and snatched the blade away. 

“Hey!” I shouted, “That’s mine!” 

“You stole it.” Fwahe said holding the edge of the blade level with her eyes and making a careful inspection. 

“I…found it.” I argued. 

“Well then so did I. I found it on the ground. Just now.” 

She grinned, fangs sparkling in the early morning light. It was likely mine had been doing the same. I’d adjusted to them now. Their points had created small craters in my lips but no longer drew blood. I’d learned to avoid them when I spoke. 

“That’s a church-honed blade. It’s not going to work for a heretic like you.” I said. 

“Oh really?” Fwahe asked. 

She located the small spike and slit her palm without so much as a grimace. She ran it down the length of the blade and I was forced to eat my words as the sword was brightened with cosmic light. The green tints caught on her skin making her satisfied smile all the more sinister. I was ready to issue all kinds of warnings about what would befall those who used church relics for their own selfish purposes. She spoke before I got the chance to. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your fancy glowing toothpick back once I’ve broken these chains.” Fwahe assured me. 

I didn’t know if I could trust her word, but fighting her for the sword didn’t seem a particularly smart decision. She had all the advantages. She drew her foot back, pulling the chain as tight as it would allow. The cuffs cut into to both of our ankles. She swung sideways rather than down. Instead of just bringing the sword down on the metal links she had opted to shoot out one of the slices of holy light. This would’ve been fine if we were on the ground or even maybe on a ship. Literally anywhere except in the palm of a giant creature. 

There was a moment of delight when we heard the links of the chain snap. Shards of siderite went spiraling down to the ground thousands and thousands of feet below. This delight was quickly eclipsed by an ear-splitting shriek. A black scorch mark burned across the Amygdala’s palm. It gave its hand a shake and we began to plummet towards the ground. 

I saw salvation in the creature’s claws, letting my whole body fall over one of them, like a sack of flour across a baker’s shoulder. I was able to haul myself into the trough-like nail sliding down until I rested in the hollow where nail grew from flesh. Fwahe had driven my sword into the back of the creature’s palm, hanging from the hilt as the Amygdala shook its hand again and again trying to dislodge her. I looked out and saw another of its great palms rushing towards her. The Ancient One pinched Fwahe between the tips of two of its nails. It pulled her free, sword and all, with a single tug. I could see her whole body compress and expand as she sucked in what would surely be the last breaths the Vileblood ever took. 

At least if the Ancient One was going to kill us I would go after she did. My task would be completed, even if it wasn’t done by proper Executioners. Not even Sister Veera would scoff at methods if the death had come directly from the gods. None of us could argue with that. I looked on waiting for the Amygdala to squeeze, for the sickly silvery blood of the monstrous creatures to spurt out of her body like it had when Lazarus and his band had shown all of Yharnam the raw power of a Logarius wheel. 

Except that wasn’t what happened. The ground began to streak towards us as we were lowered towards the ground. The Amygdala gently set the Vileblood down in unfamiliar terrain. It shook its finger several times until I came tumbling out of its fingernail. I landed on dry cracked ground. My landing was accompanied by a few half-hearted puffs of dust. Fwahe seemed in shock, and I decided to capitalize on it. This was the perfect moment to reclaim my sword. She’d dropped it when she’d hit the ground and I took it from its resting place. I looked around for the scabbard, finding instead, that the Amygdala had vanished. 

I turned around in several circles but there wasn’t so much as the fading shape of it vanishing in the far-off distance. It was simply gone, like a candle blown out. The place we’d landed was disturbingly foreign. Tombstones covered with a strange language I couldn’t read were dappled across the ground, scattered like a game of pick up sticks. There seemed no rhyme or reason to their placement. All the same I felt horrifically guilty having been dropped in someone’s graveyard. This wasn’t a place for swords or infected creatures. I took a step back and knocked over a pile of small stones. Where headstones couldn’t be afforded there were piles of rocks. I’d need to tread more carefully. 

The graves in our immediate vicinity were of the small variety, the things you were likely to find in a common cometary. Further in the distance, maybe a few hundred yards were towering monuments. The headstones of these graves were several times taller than I was. Each appeared to be carved with the same symbols and motifs just on a far, far larger scale. 

“Do you know where we are?” I asked. 

Fwahe did a quick turnaround before shaking her head. She patted herself down, checking for wounds. The Amygdala’s claws hadn’t even torn her shirt. She had been placed here in perfect condition. 

“This is it then.” I said, holding the Holy Blade sword out in front of me. 

Fwahe blinked at me, words falling on deaf ears. I took a step towards her, fixing my stance. This wasn’t the kind of sword I could wield like my combination foil. There was no hand tucked behind the back or soft grip on the guarded handle. The bone hilt of the Holy Blade demanded full control, both hands solidly locked and an iron intent behind every action. 

“You’re really going to do it then?” Fwahe asked. She didn’t stand to meet my attacks. She settled herself on the dusty ground, legs crossed and arms folded in her lap. The remaining knife was left un-drawn. The Vileblood waited unarmed for death to come to her. She was nothing like Cassius had been. Really she wasn’t even like herself. There were no insults, no challenge just grim indifference. 

I gulped and took another step towards her, suddenly hesitant. This change didn’t escape her and I saw the ghost of a smirk playing across her lips. She wasn’t afraid of me. I was dressed in the robes of the highest order of the church carrying a sword imbibed with arcane powers the likes of which had never been seen before and she was staring me straight in the eyes. She was willing me to do it, daring me to do it. 

I took another step, and waited for the one after that to come. My feet refused to move any further. I was at a standstill. I had promised to kill her so many times and now when I was faced with the perfect opportunity I couldn’t make it happen. Executioners were tasked with not only passing the sentence but carrying it out as well. I had to follow through and do this, this is the life I had been dreaming of for so long. Everything about this moment should have been perfect. We were alone, already in a graveyard surrounded by the dead. We had been carried here by an Amygdala for Kos’ sake, what other signs could I possibly be waiting for? 

“I’m waiting, church boy.” Fwahe said. 

I thought of her by name now. I hadn’t been thinking of her as the Vileblood or a monster or a creature. She was all of those things, I knew it. Her blood shone silver and her back was marked by Executioners who had failed the task before. It was my sovereign duty to complete their work. 

“Come on, what’s taking so long?” She asked. 

I adjusted my grip on the handle of my sword. I looked down at the bloodletting spike and debated if I’d need the light of the Ancient Ones to complete my task. It had taken an incredible amount of effort to get Cassius to bleed. Would Fwahe’s skin be the same hardened iron that the Logarius Wheels buckled against? Even with the ebb and flow of strength that I’d gained due to the infection, I might need some additional power. 

“I’m just…trying to find the right words..” I said. 

“Oh don’t pray for me, church boy. If you’re going to kill me, I’d prefer not to be tortured first.” She mocked. 

The hilt became too heavy for my hands. It dropped onto the dry ground with a thud. I turned away from her. “I’m not going to kill you.” 

“What was that?” Fwahe asked, “Couldn’t hear you?” 

“I’m not going to kill you!” I shouted. 

I was unforgivably angry at myself for saying it, but lying would just bring on more mockery. I didn’t have the nerve; I couldn’t break the body of someone I’d spent so much time with. Like it or not I owed my life several times over to the Vileblood Fwahe. She had swum me to shore the night of the shipwreck. She could’ve eaten me when we were in the abandoned villages but instead we both went without food. Without her leading I would’ve died in Ludwig’s chamber and rotted away with so many other skeletons. She’d killed just about every madman who’d threatened my life and reluctantly come to my defense again and again. Like it or not she had become a brother at arms and after losing one in Old Yharnam I couldn’t be responsible for the death of another. 

She smiled. It was a rueful crooked smirk of a thing, twisted two inches too far because of the scars on her face. I hated that smile, but I couldn’t dispose of the person wearing it. 

“You win!” I shouted. It felt good to yell. I’d never done it much before but in this empty place with no one to hear it made perfect sense. 

“You were right all along ok? I’m a stupid church boy!” Something about that omission broke the both of us. Every horrible shred of doubt and fear and nausea came tumbling away. 

She laughed. It was the first one of her laughs that I didn’t hate. She really was overcome by it, so much so that she leaned back and fell onto the ground arms flailing and eyes closed in rapture. I shrugged, and unable to help it, joined in. We were both bent double when the chime of a silver bell cut through the joyful outbursts. 

Our heads jerked towards the sound at the same time. I put a hand up to shield my eyes as I looked out into the distance. If Fwahe hadn’t turned her head too I would’ve been able to write it off as some kind of trick. Then it came again, sharp and solid and growing closer. The joy vanished from her face but held steady on mine. The Amygdala brought us to someplace with hunters. 

I couldn’t get a sense of which direction they were coming from but I stood up and started waving my arms above my head. I continued to shout, but this time to get their attention rather than make a fool of myself. 

“Hey!” I shouted. “Hey I’m over here! I’m a hunter! I lost my bells! Over here! Help!” 

“What are you doing?” Fwahe hissed at me. 

I ignored her as they began to appear out of the fog. Oh, not only were they hunters but they were wearing the pointed helmets of the Executioners. It would be awful for them to find me with a Vileblood, but the future was terrifically bright where the return of Yharnam was concerned. Surely they’d be able to put me in touch with Alfred and he could help me back to Odeon Chapel. I would talk things over with Head Vicar Lanthem and whomever else might’ve been involved with the plot Alexandrine had talked about. I would forgive them all, every one if it just meant I could go home. 

There was easily a score of them, coming across the field. The pointed Gold Ardeo of each and every helmet glimmered. They shone brighter than the buttons and buckles from my dream had. They were Executioner’s alright, with every step I saw another sign. They stood out in relief against the weapons on their backs. The wood and metal of their Logarius Wheels didn’t shine as brightly as their helms, staying mostly in shadows. It just made the gold all the more brilliant. 

“Over here!” I called again. 

I watched in delight as the head of the leader of the party swiveled towards me. With a wave of his hand he called over to his brothers. They pointed and a small party broke off from the larger group. I kept waving and they returned the waves, ringing their bells as they came towards me. When I was absolutely sure they were coming my way I turned back to look at Fwahe. 

“Get out of here.” I hissed at her. 

“Why? Afraid I’m going to mess things up for you, church boy?” She asked. Her voice was full of the same apprehension that she’d spoken with when we were being carried through the skies. 

“What?” I replied, “No. They’re Executioners. If you don’t leave they’re going to kill you. Get out of here.” 

“I thought I was supposed to-“ 

“Just go!” I growled. 

She looked from me to the hunting party getting closer. My heart swelled when I realized an all-too-familiar feeling written deep in her eyes and all across her face. I’d never noticed it before but it was everywhere now, in every bit of tension built up in her powerful legs. The Vileblood, so deeply sarcastic and strong-willed didn’t want to be alone. She wasn’t ready to be by herself. 

“Go!” I barked again. 

“But-“ She began 

I shook my head, whatever excuse she might give would only work on me. There was no way an entire party of Executioners could be talked out of going after their prey. They were going to hunt her to the ends of the earth and back if she allowed herself to be seen. 

“Go!” I shouted, for the third time. 

She backed up slowly, crouching behind one of the larger tombstones. I could still see the glimmer of her silver hair as she peeked out from behind it watching the scene play out. I’d been chained too her long enough, she wasn’t going to hold me back any longer. I started running towards the Executioners. 

“Kohso, don’t!” I heard her shout as my feet sped across the parched earth until the distance between the Executioners and myself was finally closed. She wasn’t going to order me around anymore. 

The golden helmet, a solid pyramid obscured any and all facial features of the hunters heading towards me. I watched the riveted bracers of the lead Executioner extend outward, calling the party to a halt. They all stopped as he alone came towards me. The pointed helmet tilted upwards, revealing a mess of familiar curls. I couldn’t believe it. 

“A-Alfred?” I stammered. 

His eyes were as wide as mine. “Kohso?” he asked. 

I nodded furiously, not bothering to hide the tears that came streaming down my cheeks like a waterfall. It was impossible for it to be him. I kept wiping away at my eyes. Crying always got them to burning, which blurred my vision terribly. I had to keep wiping at them, I had to be sure it was him. No one else would’ve known my name. I knew it was him, but I had to be sure. My nose started to run and I wiped that away too, until the sleeves of my Holy Blade robes were damp with either one fluid or the other. I looked a mess but didn’t care in the slightest. It was Alfred. It was Executioner Alfred, and that was all the mattered. 

“It’s me.” I managed when I was finally able to speak again. “It’s me.” 

I kept repeating it, like those were the only two words I knew. My legs started to shake. I locked my knees desperate to stay on my feet. Alfred waved away his companions, and I was grateful. He was that kind of considerate to think to let this be a private moment. I let all of the emotions I’d been holding in crash over me. I took on a thousand feelings all at once and didn’t hide a single one of them. Alfred waited. He tossed his helmet onto the ground so that I could see his face, so that I wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. 

He had tears in his eyes too. I didn’t know how long I’d been gone for, days on ships blurred together with sleepless nights and hours of fleeing for my life. It was long enough for him to think he’d failed his mission, that his efforts to rescue me had been in vain. His tears dropped with as much frequency and unabashed emotion as mine did. They stained the folds of his robes a darker shade of gray-blue then they were in reality. 

He was unreasonably well-armed for an Executioner, carrying a kirkhammer and a Logarius Wheel on his back at the same time. Executioner Alfred had always had strong shoulders but the weight of both weapons was crushing enough for any man. To be hit with emotion like this must’ve been unbearable. I racked my brain for something else to say, something to get him to stop crying. 

“It’s okay.” I said. 

He nodded. 

We both took a moment to collect ourselves before the flow of our tears was truly stemmed. Yards and yards behind him his brothers and sisters waited. They wouldn’t continue to advance and a dim relief blossomed somewhere deep inside of me. So long as they kept their distance Fwahe could stay hidden. I didn’t want my salvation to come at the cost of her sacrifice. 

Alfred opened his arms, waving one of his gloved hands to beckon me in. “Come here, come here, my boy.” I must’ve been the messiest hunter he’d ever laid eyes on. I tried not to be ashamed of myself as I raced towards him. I flung clawed hands around his neck as he pulled me into an embrace. He kept me pressed close with a hand on my shoulder. 

He held me really close. I could feel the strength of his grip even through the fabric of my robes and the leather of his gloves. He pulled me in tight and tilted his head to whisper in my ear. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” I said, “You found me. We can go home now. It’s all-“ 

Then I couldn’t speak any more. The air would come in but the sound wouldn’t come out. Everything hurt. Everything scalded worse than the incense. There was a richness to this feeling too, deep and heavy like a dense meal on a full stomach. 

I felt a strange and sudden dampness at my side. I tried to take a step back, but Alfred’s hand was still clamped down on my shoulder. I tried to shake it off but he held firm. This wasn’t the grip of a profound embrace. This was the kind of hold you used when you didn’t want someone, or something to get away. I was just barely able to look past my shoulders and down to my side. 

Alfred was pressing the hilt of his sword into my ribcage. It was so sharp I hadn’t even felt it go in. The dampness was blood, my own blood. My eyes widened as my mind raced trying to put together the pieces of what had just happened. 

“I’m so sorry.” Alfred whispered again. 

“W..w…” I sputtered. 

My own words couldn’t come out. They were stopped by blood, which I started coughing up in ugly choking sobs. It dribbled over my lips and stained my throat, my robes and my chest. 

“I’m so sorry.” Alfred said. 

He left his sword inside of me then reached up and took my hands, one by one away from his throat. They were so weak; I couldn’t put up the slightest protest. I couldn’t feel any of my fingers. He held one of my clawed hands, the one I had slit open for the sake of the sword in his own. He pressed his thumb into my palm. My fingers moved from primitive reactions rather than my own will. The curved claws had gotten longer. “

You’re infected.” He said. “

No…” I choked. I managed to get that word out between bouts of blood. “They’re….gonna…heal me.” 

Alfred swallowed back a choking sob. He reached down and twisted the hilt of his sword. My vision sparked and fizzled, swirling with stars and flashes of lightning. Everything started to melt, to liquefy, bleaching itself to an all-consuming white. 

“I’m so sorry.” Alfred said once more. “It had to be done.” 

I tried with every ounce of strength I had left to tell him it was going to be okay, but I couldn’t get it out. Nothing else would come out. I’d given him all I could. I kept trying to blink but my eyes wouldn’t close any more. I could feel them, wedged open but unable to see. The whole world was white. 

And then I heard the music from the dream. I heard a chorus of bells over an orchestra of practiced musicians. I was being taken back, back to the cavern of the stars. The Amygdala would come back for me any minute. 

I just had to hold on. 

I just had to wait. 

I just had to…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	14. 14.The Removers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will the passage to Moonside Lake now open?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think!

The flower started soaking up Izaius’ blood before it had even had a chance to stain the ground. I pressed my hand against his throat, trying to keep pressure on the wound. Everything was flowing too fast to clot or scab over. I couldn’t even try and bandage it, for the second I let up even in the slightest he would surely perish. 

“Stay with me.” I said, “Come on Izaius, come on you’ve got to stay with me.” 

His eyes started to go glassy. I looked around for something, anything, that would give him a chance at salvation. My fingers were as red as his lips; blood was leaking out of his mouth now. It wouldn’t do a thing to stop it, but I didn’t care. I kept the pressure on his throat as I leaned down and pressed my lips to his. Medically speaking it was impossible. Medically speaking, he was already dead. Despite all this I swore that I felt his lips twitch into a smile. I felt him kiss back. 

“Stay with me, please.” I begged. “We can go away. I promise. Stay with me and we’ll never go back. I swear.” 

He couldn’t hear me. Nothing I said was able to change the situation in the slightest. Death didn’t listen to pleas and words couldn’t bandage wounds. Minimus busied himself with other things while I tried in vain to keep in blood that was already fueling the life of another. I had half a mind to rip that flower out, down to the roots and throw it into the fire. I’d let the flames take Runesmith Caryll’s notebook too for good measure. I wasn’t given time to grieve, I wasn’t even provided with enough to ensure that Izaius really had breathed his last. 

The church novice dug through his pack and began to throw on every amulet he had. He roped them over his head and strung them down his arms. None of them would make a difference when I returned the favor he’d done Izaius. All the amulets in the world couldn’t stop me from slitting his throat with the knife Izaius had given to me. 

Revenge would have to wait, as the Coldblood flower began to reveal the path Caryll had concealed. The entire Cliffside started to shake. It didn’t make any noise just silently rumbled. Inch by inch it began to sink away disappearing until it was one with the ground. The wall that prevented our passage was no more. 

The lake was all consuming. It was both above us and below us at the same time, composing ground and sky alike. It glowed, like moonlight, like quicksilver. The waves stretched out leagues and leagues beyond us. I thought I could see a building somewhere on the far shore. It might have been the Byrgenwerth outpost. That might have been the place where the Runesmith wrote these pages, designed her infuriating symbols and had her talks with the Pthumerian Queen. 

I was overrun with too many emotions to care. Moonside lake was likewise apathetic to my plight. Minimus took the first step into the veiled territory. The second his boots hit the water the surface rippled, but it rippled wrong. The water didn’t move like a boot stepping into stone, his feet didn’t sink into the water. He stood on top of the lake while the surface below bounced and bellowed, a stick beating on a drum. He was walking on water. 

The draw of the place was incredible, hypnotic and intoxicating. It beckoned me forward and I could not let go. My steps were full of the same impossible levitation that Minimus’ were. Moonside Lake had a mind of its own, and it did not withhold its opinions of me. The second I stepped onto the lake, the sky began to crack. Like a pick chipping away at ice the air above us seized and split. The sky began to leak. 

Torrents of water rained down from above, like waterfalls. The iridescent water did not come down in droplets like rain, but great powerful gusts pouring out and culminating into huge waves. I spun on my heels. Fuck the lake. Whatever secrets the Runesmith had, she could keep them. 

I wasn’t fast enough. The downpour swept me up and soaked through my robes. It wasn’t cold like I expected it to be. It also didn’t choke me. Despite buckets and buckets coming down on my head, not a single drop went into my eyes nose or mouth. I could see everything happening. The waves swirled around me, carrying me upward. I felt my feet leave the ground. The urge to struggle was strong, but the strange water held me tight. My arms were pressed to my sides as I was borne higher and higher. I couldn’t stand it, the sudden rush of air and the absence of a ground plane. 

I kept getting higher and higher. All of the water seeped into my skin and my clothes but it wasn’t unpleasant in the slightest. There was not a shred of refreshment in the strange waters but there was nothing dangerous either. I didn’t fear drowning. 

I tried glancing around to see if the same things were happening to Minimus, but I couldn’t find him. I was carried through the cracks in the sky, straight up into the clouds. They rolled in, mirroring the waves that broke and crested below. I was able to float above them, and they shifted to make space, allowing me passage. The water had come away, dropping its hold on me. The lake had only wanted to serve as an elevator. 

I took a tentative step forward and found that walking on nothing was as easy as strolling down the street. There was no learning curve or trick to it. I started to pass through the clouds, half-wondering if I were dead and this was a dream. My dreams were never this vivid. When I ran my fingers over the tops of the rolling fog they came back coated in white droplets of moisture, studded with sparkling silver stars. No part of my brain would’ve imagined a world in such detail. It was so ludicrous it had to be real. 

I thought about calling out, trying to seek the Runesmith or one of the old Byrgenwerth scholars. There was a chance that the Pthumerian Queen would be somewhere in this strange sky scape, if she had managed to survive. I kept walking; searching. The farther I went the less clouds there were, until the whole sky had become see through. I was looking down at the world, towering above it. 

This was it. 

This had to be what Runesmith Caryll had fought so hard to seal away. The waters of Moonside Lake had given me the powers of the Ancient Ones. 

At least that was my prevailing theory. There was only way to find out if I was correct. I needed a field test. If I was truly in possession of cosmic powers, then I’d be able to find Kohso. I looked down at the ground spread out below me like a table of infinite contents. Miles and miles were condensed to a single dot of color. It was incredible. 

I brought the image of my missing brother to mind. I thought of him as he always was, in clean robes, with his arms folded just so and the glimmer of a quotation from the Anointed Text resting on his lips. The ground below spun, manipulating itself like a globe as I searched. 

I saw the enslaved crew of a ship, choking their captors with the very chains that subjugated them. I saw two men giving each other flowers as they strolled down a path of trimmed hedges. Neither seemed to be disturbed by the state of the world they lived in, though both were dressed in hunter’s garb. I could look into buildings too. Inside a hospital I saw a ragged boy fighting a woman. She wielded a sword while he had taken up a syringe. I saw a thousand messengers scattered throughout the world, some wore hats, and others had ribbons, or held scraps of paper. Some had nothing at all, but they were the only things that could see me. Their bony fingers acted like the needles of a fluctuating compass, pointing me this way and that until I was able to locate him. 

Even with my increased range of vision I had no idea where he was. There wasn’t one familiar thing in sight. I tried to lean down closer, and saw a hand, somehow my hand swooping down towards him. I stopped, afraid I might crush him. There were plenty of other things crawling about in the nightmarish landscape. 

A god could practice on simple creatures. 

The dogs here were different than the ones I’d encountered in Yharnam hunts. Instead of shaggy coats of rotting fur these hounds came with blackened skin, sharp pointed ears and glowing red eyes. I found I could pick them the same as I would ants were I my standard size. If I was thoughtful and cognizant of my actions they would come to no harm. 

On the other side of the scale I could crush their skulls with hardly any effort. Ants get stepped on for no other reason than displays of power. I was bigger than the beasts, and the urge to obliterate even just a few of them was too great to ignore. I felt no remorse, for they surely had attacked their fair share of hunters over the course of their miserable lives. I was just doing my duty and stamping them out. 

I was rather astonished that Kohso remained asleep when I went to pick him up. He was chained to a blood-stained girl in torn clothing. She woke up the instant her sleep was disturbed. She snatched a sword away from the wall, taking it with her. When the girl came to rest on my palm however, she cast the weapon aside, preferring to wield her own. I saw the flash of a knife and watched her chest rise and fall. The further I took them from the ground the worse she got, but she didn’t strike me. I don’t think it really would’ve hurt but I was still relieved when she finally sheathed it. I thought she might just sit down and wait things out, but that wasn’t the case. As soon as she gave up her knife she decided to implement a new tactic. This involved frantically shaking Kohso until he woke up. 

There were feathers on his head, all mixed in to his hair. I couldn’t wait to bring him to me so that I could laugh at him in person. If he thought they would invoke some new kind of church charm he was far more trusting in obscure church hunter beliefs then even I’d thought. His robes were no stranger to blood and bore their fair share. They weren’t the novice robes he’d last been seen in, these were thicker and of a superior quality. I was sure I’d seen similar before but couldn’t put my finger on the location. All the same, they suited him. 

It took her a long time to shake him awake. I was worried for a few seconds that I was too late, that he was dead. I could’ve just picked up his corpse. I couldn’t recall if Kohso was a heavy sleeper or not, I’d never been the one to wake him up. That duty fell almost entirely to Eros who, like an eager child on Yuletide mornings couldn’t stay in bed an instant past waking. The blood-stained girl got him up though. His eyes opened and were full of life. 

I grinned, or at least I tried to. Being split between the clouds and the strange hands I wasn’t really sure which me was the one doing the smiling. Kohso wasn’t looking at me anyway. He had run straight to the edge of my palm and was looking down at the world. He hadn’t changed in the slightest, as comfortable with these extreme heights as he’d been on church rooftops. He probably thought I was some kind of god. 

Looking with a more critical eye, my arms did seem sort of Amygdalan. I’d spent enough time looking up at the one in Lanthem’s study to know. In any case, he would surely trust me to take him to safety. That was a difficult place to find. I didn’t trust the High Octave, so there was no way he was coming to Yhar’Ghul. I also still harbored my suspicions against Odeon Chapel’s head Vicar and I couldn’t very well bring him back to Yharnam. After what I’d just witnessed Minimus do, there was no way I was going to take him here. That really only left the one option, and it was a place Kohso had wanted to go for basically all his life. I had to give him to the Executioners, more specifically Alfred. He would be sure to find safety with them. 

In the same manner that I had sought out Kohso I began thinking about Executioner Alfred. I had only met the man a handful of times and couldn’t remember what he looked like as readily as my own brother. His face came to me in separate elements, layering themselves one on top of one another until I was fairly certain I sought the right person. 

Once again the globe of the world beneath me began to spin, but somehow I wasn’t moving with it. I hovered in one point while a road stretched out before me. I could look down it, zooming in on the end goal as though spying it through a telescope, but I would have to walk the path myself. I floated above the ground, unable to damage the world below, unless I willed it. 

In any case I was able to find some Executioners, all of them concealing their faces with Gold Ardeo helms. I started to bring Kohso and the strange girl towards them at a measured pace. Jerking them along from point A to point B might cause some sort of irreparable damage. I should’ve field-tested with the beasts more. Too late for that now. 

Kohso contented himself with observing the passing terrain. There was one moment where he turned and looked upwards. He surely saw a face that wasn’t mine, but as I looked back at him there was a flash of recognition. I was sure, that just for a moment he had seen me. 

“It’s me.” I said. “Kohso it’s me. It’s Brother Yilmarie!” 

No sound came out, rather the words turned to puffs of smoke. Pungent and purple they mingled with the air, changing the scent of Moonside Lake as well as the ground I carried Kohso over. I recognized my own blend of incense as it worked its way into my nostrils. It had been forever since I brewed even the most elementary batch of the stuff. I missed it. Things were simpler in the Odeon Chapel basement. I

continued to talk, senseless soundless drivel coming out of me in cloudy torrents. I thought it would keep the beasts at me, not that there were any I need fear. I could crush them with the smallest of the Amygdala’s six fingers, but the incense felt more natural. Another bolt of recognition alit on Kohso’s face when he identified the scent, but it was soon overtaken by coughs. 

I clamped my mouth shut, afraid that much more of the smoke would poison him. I wanted to yell at him but that would’ve made it worse, so I kept quiet. I watched as he sucked in the noxious fumes until he doubled over in fits a chain-smoker would’ve feared. For the second time since I’d found him I was worried he was going to die. The girl with him just laughed and covered her own face. I got the feeling they weren’t friends. There was nothing about her that would’ve suggested church involvement. In fact, she wore such minor coverings I was surprised Kohso could even look at her without blushing or muttering some kind of absolution. They must’ve been chained to each other for a while. Maybe she was his captor. She did appear to be the one with all the weapons. I could find a way to free 

Kohso, I could crush her if I needed to. 

Kohso, as though to prevent me taking rash actions went for the sword. It apparently belonged to him, though he was not its first owner. Debates broke out between the two of them, and I struggled to understand the exact nature of their disagreement. So much time had passed for the both of us. I was sure he’d have questions for me too. He would’ve had questions about Izaius, if only he’d gotten the chance to meet him. 

Thoughts of the Choir’s throat slitter were flung out of my head as a searing pain ripped across my palm. The girl had slashed me with the sword somehow, and I had shaken my hand on instinct. I struggled to catch the both of them as they fell towards the ground. I was afraid I’d have another lapse in concentration or that the bloodstained girl would attack me again. They were near enough that the Executioners could find them. If only I could talk without breathing smoke, I could tell Kohso that salvation was nearby. 

He was clever. He had managed to get us out of Old Yharnam I was sure he could find the band of Executioners. I left the both of them on the ground, and tried to memorize the landscape of the place myself. As soon as I had finished the business I had left I would head out to meet him there. There were no signposts to give name to the place but it was dusty and full of gravestones. A crumbling temple loomed in the distance and beyond that more fortifications. A structure like that was sure to be on one of the Runesmith’s maps. If it was known to the Executioners, then I would find it too. 

“I’ll find you Kohso.” I promised. “Just hold on. Just wait. I’m coming back for you.” 

I judged I was far enough away to say those words without causing them too much harm. Perhaps the smell of incense would draw the Executioner’s attention. I wanted to watch the scene play out but my attention was wrenched away in a flash of white lightning. The world below me evaporated, and now there were only the clouds. 

Minimus seemed to have clawed his way up from the bottom. His robes were torn and he breathed heavily, weighed down by the metal amulets he had wound around himself. They seemed to have grown larger. What’s more the waters of Moonside Lake were unable to touch him. My hair was soaking while his stayed perfectly dry, not the slightest hint of moisture on his clothes. 

“How dare you..” Minimus growled at me as he struggled to push himself through one of the cracks in the ground. 

I checked to make sure that I still had Izaius’ knife. It was still there, the ruby in its handle as brilliant as always, as red as the blood I intended to shed. The church novice kept repeating himself as I strode towards him. His eyes were wide and crazed, not a shred of reasoning behind them. There was only rage. 

I was sure I looked the same way. I didn’t try to hide the knife, but held it above me, ready to bring it down in whatever arcing sweep would end Minimus’ life. I was sure that the knife work wouldn’t be necessary. I could send him plummeting to his death with the slightest kick from my boots, but I wanted death to come from my own hands. Falling to the ground would be too easy. 

Before I could reach him he had pulled himself up into the clouds. When he touched them another of the white lighting currents crackled through the world. It cascaded through the cloud, arcing towards me but the wisp of condensation died out before it was close enough to deal more damage. 

“What was that?” I asked. 

Minimus grinned a crooked grin, all of the smile pressed to one side of his face. “That was the reason for this godforsaken journey.” 

He waved his hands, touched a few more clouds as he attempted to call another burst of power. He had yet to master the weapon. Even as he struggled he held the grin tight at the corner of his mouth. Minimus was pleased he had tricked both Izaius and myself, harboring his secret agenda while stringing us along as though playing onto ours. He knew more about the lake then he was letting on. 

“I had come here to get the god’s power, to find the things Runesmith Caryll wouldn’t dare leave lying about in her little codebooks.” Minimus continued. 

“What are you talking about?” I asked. 

He rolled his eyes at me, “You honestly astound me Yilmarie. You really do believe you were clever enough to figure everything out on your own. You didn’t even have all the pieces of the puzzle. You’re trying to finish some story off, figure out what happened at Moonside Lake but don’t you get that it’s bigger than that? This is far more important than that mass of kids you want to save in the sewers-“ 

“How did you-“ 

He wouldn’t let me finish. “The High Octave told me herself, personally. You think you’re the only one she spoke to? You’re not that stupid, come on Yilmarie, please. Tell me you’re not that stupid. Oh of course you are. She flattered you, made you feel special, right? Oh it was so easy telling her how to get to you. She doesn’t care what happens to you, she only wants you for the Godschild’s evolution…and you’re not going to survive to give her that.” 

I didn’t tell him anything. Minimus kept flicking his fingers trying to get the arcane magic to happen again. 

“It goes way back, to when the Powder Kegs got to working with Bolt Paper. That was huge, lighting is huge. They thought it was enough to have another weapon to bring down beasts, but we can go above and beyond that Yilmarie.” Minimus explained. 

I was trying to keep up with him. Caryll had never made mention of lightning, not from what I’d managed to translate. I should’ve spent more time with the book before we got to the lake. I should’ve taken the time to translate it cover to cover rather than jumping to conclusions with the Coldblood flower. 

“Runesmith Caryll knew it, and down in the cellars with her precious Pthumerian Queen they played at chemist, trying to figure out just how to tame that power to their will. She created these charms....and they’re supposed to have worked...but you stepped in. I should be soaking in the waters of Moonside Lake, flowing with the power of the gods.” Minimus said. 

He held out his charms for me to inspect. They were drowning with symbols, stuff that very well could’ve been written in Caryll’s hand. I was too focused on the book; I should’ve taken time with the strange amulets too. They had told him secrets I hadn’t begun to wonder at yet. I was left plucking at threads while Minimus’ had unraveled an entire rug, re-spinning the cloth to suit his own desires. 

“But you stepped in. You stole it. You stole the powers that are supposed to be mine. I can hardly touch the lake!” He growled. 

When he had moved the amulets towards me, it was clear they had been touched by the lake. He scraped the water off them and flung it from his fingertips. In his hands water became lighting, and I just barely rolled aside to avoid being burnt to a crisp. I ran a hand along my robes, drenching palm and fingers in a mixture of Moonside Lake water and Izaius’ blood. I copied the church novice’s technique, but when the water came off of my fingers it morphed into hideous beasts. They charged at Minimus, who raised his weapon against them and fought amongst the clouds. 

The High Octave, Doctor Lee, they’d all betrayed me. I would ruin them and their perfect city. I sought it in a second, and while Minimus was occupied I unleashed holy vengeance upon the city. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but I found that showering cursed water and spilled blood on the city was a decent place to start. 

As the shining streets filled with sewage I ripped apart the college building, using hands that were not my own. I didn’t care what form I appeared to the hunters below, divine or demonic. Some tried to rally themselves and take up arms against me but they stood no chance. I became wrath incarnate, and there was no stopping me. 

I smashed the tiles and tore up the floorboards that composed Doctor Lee’s office. I had torn a hole right through the building, until the whole city could see the things she kept in her basement. The doctor was down there too, and she looked up with me in wide-eyed horror. The Godschild was crawling up from its hole, and another child was standing, shaking, ready to be devoured. Not this time. I grabbed the glowing slug and tore it out of the hole in the floor. It was slimy, and nearly slipped from my hands, but I locked my grip around it and squeezed with all the power of the Ancient Ones. 

Doctor Lee screamed as the Godschild swelled and then burst, showering blood and slug refuse down on her and the chained children. They all started to scream before much longer. Something about the creature’s remains was toxic to their skin. I was held shock-still with terror as the whole basement started to melt together in a nauseating mess of liquefied chains and dissolving skin. Everyone was becoming skeletal, the Gods’ blood burned through flesh. I turned away, horrified trying to find a way to absolve myself of that. 

Looking away from the Godschild, everything was worse. The blood and water had fossilized the city. The High Octave wasn’t kidding when she had said there was something special about Izaius’ blood; it made a devastating weapon. The combination of water and blood had somehow hardened, turning most of the denizens to stone. They were frozen in their escape attempts, trapped like so many mosquitos caught in so much amber. The newly-formed statues were piled against the walls of buildings and bridges as they tried to escape. They were the kind of nightmarish statues that were only supposed to be in stories, things that Ivaday-Avaday would’ve created and Hari Harel unwittingly outsmarted. There was no legendary hero coming to rescue Yhar’Ghul. 

Some of the people who hadn’t been turned to stone were morphed into other things. Hunters had their faces melted together. Choir students all in the same bunkrooms congealed into massive multi-faced monsters, fusing with the trunks at the end of their beds. They crawled along on skinny limbs with clawed hands, screeching in horror whenever they looked at their classmates. The professors once sharp-minded and full of knowledge, became sluggish creatures with blobby flesh and darkened pits for eyes. They left trails of noxious slime behind them as they continued through the school as though nothing had happened, slithering along the same circuit they had once walked. The devastation of the building seemed only a minor inconvenience to them as they tried to reach their classrooms. 

If this was what I had done on accident who knows what the church novice could do on purpose. I tried to turn back into the clouds, retreat and see if the strange beasts had killed him yet. Switching out of my doubled vision was difficult, and trying to see both worlds at the same time made my head spin. It was like looking through someone else’s glasses, everything fuzzy and hard to make out. Minimus didn’t suffer from the same obstructions as I did. 

My eyes were finally able to focus with just enough time to see him charging at me. The rolling fog had turned to boiling clouds which crackled and boomed with thunder whenever they pressed against each other. “

You stole what was mine!” Minimus snarled as he barreled into me. 

We began to fall, both of us plummeting towards the ground. I felt the ground beneath us crack and the cold splashes of water as we went plummeting through layer after layer of the mysterious lake. Sometimes I caught the glimpse of other people or beasts stuck on other layers. There was the white veil and skirt of a ghostly maiden. I saw the shriveled face of a multi-eyed spider. They flickered and danced like flames, there one minute then mutating into other shapes the next. Minimus was still on top of me even as we fell, though he couldn’t collect himself enough to get another hit in. He had me by the collar, fingers knotted into my robes with no intention of letting go. He was ensuring that my head would be smashed before his. 

I closed my eyes. I could hear Minimus chuckle, assuming that I was bracing for impact or saying a last prayer. I wasn’t doing either. This wasn’t going to be the day that I died. Izaius’ blood and the water from the lake were evaporating quickly, drying out and losing their potency. The further into the lake, or perhaps the further away from it we fell, the less of the Ancient One’s power I had. This was a temporary thing and though I couldn’t have possessed it long I had already caused incalculable devastation. 

I was glad it was being taken away, but I hope it wasn’t going to fade too fast. 

Behind closed eyes I pictured an Amygdala. In my mind it was the same one that had hung on the ceiling of Lanthem’s study, now come back to life. It appeared slightly below us, with its enormous hands cupped around Minimus and I. The Amygdala folded its body around us as we tumbled towards the ground. 

I heard its spine snap as it bore the impact meant to kill us. There was a huge crater left in the ground from where it fell, and even secondhand the fall was enough to deal some serious damage. Minimus went out like a light, falling either into death or a state of unconsciousness. I struggled to pull myself out of the crater, but the ground beneath me was collapsing. Cobblestones crumbled away as the path below us caved in, breaking through to tunnels beneath the city. I’d pictured Yhar’Ghul last and that was precisely where we’d landed. 

From what I could hear everything was still chaos. The air smelled like smoke, but I didn’t recall seeing any fire. In the collateral damage something must’ve fallen over and set the city ablaze. Frankly I was surprised there were any denizens left to scream. I’d watched them all turn to stone. 

Finding places to cling to while I tried to climb out of the hole was a trial. Most of the stones were so weakened they’d crumble away at the first touch. My fingernails dug into the mortar between bricks uselessly, as that too was not strong enough to sustain me. I had to find metal, wherever it stuck out and hope for the best. Pipes and support beams, the sort of stuff that was usually hidden beneath layers of concrete and stonework, that’s what I needed. I did my best to test them all before putting my full weight on the unsteady handholds, but I was no great climber. 

My boots weren’t made for gripping and without solid footing I soon started to slip. I fell backwards, with no amygdala to catch me and went sailing right back down to the bottom of the pit. The back of my head hit something hard. There was a flash of white light, but no sting of lighting. Then there was nothing. 

The darkness lasted awhile. Time became a moody impertinent creature who couldn’t decide if it wanted to crawl by at a slow measured pace or go past me in a flash; racing at such speeds that seconds and hours blended together and became one. At some points I thought I was dreaming, at others I was certain I was awake. I tried not to let myself think about any one thing for too long. I had to keep reminding myself of meaningless topics, stuff that wouldn’t disturb me. 

I started with ingredient lists, reciting every potion and poultice I’d learned three times over. Next came the few recipes I’d picked up from punishments served out in the kitchen. Bread made with three cups of flour, kneaded until you lost feeling in your wrists. Lemons squeezed over a pile of salt with a fish hidden inside, then baked for several hours. You had to carve into the salted crust with a knife, and hope you’d gotten the timing right. 

Next I tried to call to mind the stories. There were the ones Calliban had told, and I thought them to myself complete with all the little voices she’d used. Hari Harel and the Constables. Hari Harel and the Snake Priest. Hari Harel and the Spider’s Web. I wish I had taken the time to learn more than just those few. I had to cut them out of my thoughts pretty quickly. They made me think of Izaius. The thoughts of him made my chest tighten so hard I couldn’t take in any breath. The mixture of tears uncried and rage unspent made my head throb. Wherever I was and whatever darkness I was in, the pain of his memory would be of no use here. All the same I couldn’t help but think of him. I still held his knife. I still wore his jacket. I had heard two different stories about his uncle and was unable to recall which of them was true. He’d been eaten by a Vileblood either way. Izaius never got his revenge. I’d take care of that for him. 

I’d find Kohso, god, wherever he was I would find Kohso. I could enlist his help; he was sure to be an Executioner by then. It didn’t really matter if I managed to slay the right Vileblood in the end, any would do. Izaius would’ve had some deep gut feeling about it being the right monster or the wrong one, but any would do in my eyes. There was so much vengeance he was owed. I hadn’t even started on Minimus yet. 

At least the matter of Doctor Lee was settled. She would be left in eternal agony at the mercy of her children. I prayed that even in their grotesque disfigurement they would find a way to kill her. With her death perhaps they could be reborn into something better. If nothing else, they might see the sun. Until they were hunted down. No one in the hunting community was going to be comfortable with a skeletal creature left to roam the streets. No matter what I said to them, they would subvert it and find a way to slay the one reborn. It was living on borrowed time. 

The air around me grew staler. There must’ve been some sort of cave-in. I couldn’t stand, there was a roof above my head that prevented full elevation. The space wasn’t too cramped. I could lie flat out, and my toes would brush against whatever composed the wall opposite, but that wasn’t so bad. There must have been a cave-in. I was lucky not to have been crushed. 

Or was I? 

Would the choir hunters still be after me once the dust cleared? It seemed so silly to be worried about stealing Odette’s book and running away now. They could have it back, the Runesmith’s codex as well. I wasn’t sure if I still had either of them. They were somewhere. It wasn’t important. I couldn’t read them in the dark anyway. If the Choir hunters didn’t kill me I’d return the books. I’d get them back even if I had to retrace my steps to Moonside Lake. I could get the books and Izaius’ body. 

Probably not. The body would’ve been taken by the Coldblood flower by now. He was probably underground, as I was. The roots would strangle him. His throat would be full of dirt. Decomposition would happen, surely, but that befell us all. His remains weren’t confined to a tiny pine box. Maybe there would be white carnations growing over him in a few years. An unplanned surprise. He would’ve liked that. 

I pressed my hand against one of the rough brick walls, and tried to imagine him on the other side. The stone felt nothing like him and the illusion was hard to hold. I played the scene out again and again in my mind, but every time Minimus’ motions were faster and faster. There was no way I could’ve stopped him. There was no way I could’ve known. 

Minimus’ arrogance consumed me. I knew it was dangerous to let it fester here, but I was out of distractions. The cave-in was in all likelihood to become my tomb and I was powerless against the hatred that began to fill in. I couldn’t quite place where Minimus insults were just the empty ramblings of a slighted novice envious of being overlooked and where they diverged to a smug scholar full of greater knowledge and superior to his upperclassmen. Somehow Minimus was both of these people. 

Lighting that could control the gods. I really wished I had taken the time to read up on that, it seemed an incredibly important thing to overlook. Had he just gotten lucky and stumbled across the right text at the right time, or was there some other reason the church novice had discovered this before I did? I was diligent about my translations, moving from beginning to end for fear of missing something important. Perhaps I should have jumped, skimmed, saved time where ever possible. 

The stolen time that Izaius had taken from my research might have resulted in his death. I wanted to hate him for that, but I couldn’t. Those infrequent days had been too wonderful, full of stories and surprises. He had been happy just to be out in the sun, and it was no wonder after the confines of Doctor Lee’s basement. If I ever made it back to Yharnam I was going to give the tunnels, confessionals, basements, sewers and storerooms a thorough inspection. If I found so much as a single person trapped, I’d set them free at any cost. There weren’t going to be any more skeletons stashed away when I was through with Odeon Chapel. I would find someplace else to go after that. 

I vowed to take revenge and distribute justice. Everything was sworn in large sweeping gestures that I’d never be able to follow through on, but it didn’t matter. I was going to die before I ever saw the sun again. I could promise to do whatever I liked. 

Time kept its slippery cadence. I wasn’t able to determine the tempo. I tried to decide which was the worst way to go, starvation or suffocation. I was yet to become hungry, and the air didn’t seem to be in short supply, but there was little else to think about. I had the knife too, and though it’s ruby wouldn’t sparkle without lights reflecting in its faceted surface, the blade was sharp enough to bring about a swift end. That was a way too. 

“Kos forgive me.” I muttered. 

The thought was bad enough, the action unmentionable. Hunters who took their own lives wasted countless blood ministrations, weapons, training. Vicar Lanthem had preached about it being one of the ultimate crimes. He’d done it with such fervor and passion that it was one of the few sermons that stuck. I remember how Kohso, Eros and I had looked at each other after that speech ended. We’d all unanimously condemned suicidal hunters as cowards, and sworn to never be like them. 

Eros had it the easiest. He’d died a proper hunter’s death. Died for a stupid reason, granted, but that was the way you were supposed to go. Killed on your home territory by a beast. Everyone could respect that. Kohso seemed to have had a rough go at things, but I doubted he’d considered the blade. He just wasn’t the type. He’d taken that oath more seriously than any of us. 

Fondly I remembered one of those dreary days in the kitchens. We were both hardly tall enough to reach the counters, Kohso and I. Eros had lied his way out of chores as per usual and was off conning conmen deep in the bowels of the city. Kohso and I shared a step stool working to stir together a batter of one kind or another. He hadn’t quite learned his numbers and letters proficiently yet, so 

I was in charge of the recipe. And the stirring. The stirring was important too. 

He had cracked an egg, but worried about doing it wrong, had done it over the sink. It was one of those moments where you just completely forget how life is supposed to go, and instead of moving the cracked egg over the bowl, he opened it right over the drain. The yolk slid right down and it took Kohso a few seconds before he realized what happened. I laughed and went to go ask one of the nuns for another egg but Kohso had been overwrought with guilt at wasting Chapel supplies. He’d pleaded with one of the Sisters to let him do all the dishes that night, and there was a huge pile already pent up. Some of the cauldrons were bigger then he was. He’d felt he had to atone for it. One little egg. 

There was no way he’d take his own life. I set the knife down and tried to get the urge out of my head. I’d promised if he just waited I would come back for him. I tried in vain to shift some of the stones and shattered concrete that held me captive. Everything was too heavy. 

“Help.” I said. 

My throat was too dry to shout it. Blame it on no water and lots of dust. I didn’t expect anyone would hear it, but it became something to do. Count to ten and call for help. Start at one and do it again. That was the repetition of the thing. The Sisters told us that when we were lost we were supposed to stay where we were and ask for help. I felt ridiculous being half-grown and relying on a child’s technique but you’re never taught to do anything more after that. They expect you to learn the terrain, pack some cartography in those empty heads. If I could’ve gone anywhere I would’ve. 

“Help.” I said again. 

They were getting weaker. Each one was a little fainter then the last. Tongues can dry out I found. They become like sandpaper over chapped lips, and talking is rarely worth the effort. I kept going until my throat was a desert and my words were inaudible. I might’ve even kept at it past then. It was getting hard to tell. 

I slumped against one of the stone walls, pressing my forehead into the bricks. I kept trying to talk. It was too dark too know if my eyes were closed or open. I didn’t feel my eyelids so much anymore. I was trying to sleep, stop the unending torrent of thoughts and promises that thundered through my head every hour, minute, measure of time. 

That’s when it shifted. 

The stone behind my head moved and a tiny pin-prick of light penetrated the overwhelming shadows. My eyelids fluttered, I could feel them again as they squinted and blinked. That little light was almost too much for them. I had to have been down here a long time. 

“Help.” I choked. 

My coughing was louder than my words, and someone must’ve heard it. There were shouts, honest to Gods voices somewhere beyond the walls. I pounded my fist weakly against the stones. I had to get their attention. My fists didn’t make a sound. The walls overwhelmed everything, the bricks swallowed the sound. 

“Please.” I said. I felt like I was screaming, but it came out in a whisper. “I’m here. I’m over here. Help. Please.” I

was so afraid it wasn’t going to come, but by and by more light began to fill the hollow. I adjusted to it the best I could, trying to wind my gaze through the holes that began to appear and discern which direction to call out in. There was so much light I could see the shapes of things again. I hid the knife in the pockets of Izaius’ jacket. I didn’t want anyone to know about it. 

“Hang on, down there.” 

The first voice I’d heard in days that wasn’t mine. Someone really was out there trying to help. They were coming through the ceiling, shifting pounds and pounds of stone. They were able to make a hole wide enough to pass things through. I was several feet below them, separated by yet more layers of broken pathways, but with a rope and several bouts with trial and error the people above sent food below. Food and water. 

Nothing had ever tasted as good, nor would it ever again. I drained the entire canteen in mere minutes and packed bread down as a chaser. A few more rounds of coughing and my voice was returned, louder than ever. 

"Thank you!” I shouted. 

“You’re welcome! Thank Kos you’re alive!” The same voice from earlier called down. 

“Thank you.” I shouted again. I didn’t know what else to say. How are you supposed to react when someone you don’t know is thanking the Ancient Ones that you aren’t dead? I was happy, of course but there was no way to communicate that. Repetition would have to serve. “Thank you.” 

"I’m going to get you out just as soon as I can.” The voice above promised. “But you’re down pretty deep, and I can only manage to move so much rubble so fast.” 

“Take your time.” I advised him. 

The last thing I wanted was to get crushed by debris by the person trying to save me. So long as there was food and water I could wait. Food and water and hope. To some degree my mysterious benefactor followed my advice. The wreckage above me shifted in short bursts of strength, but he didn’t take a rest himself. There were breaks for catching breath, but as the light vanished and night overtook whatever remained of the city, he didn’t stop. 

“Aren’t you worried about beasts?” I asked him. 

Now that there was a crack for the wind to come through I found myself turning up the collar of Izaius’ jacket. There wasn’t much else to do to keep out the cold. It brought with it fresh air, but the smell wasn’t any better then what had collected in my cave. It it’s ravaged state, Yhar’Ghul stank worse than the truly, truly desperate parts of Yharnam. 

“They won’t bother me.” My rescuer replied, “There’s…plenty of easier prey to be had. Listen you might not be prepared for what you see when I get you out of there. Just try to breathe and not be overwhelmed by what you see.” 

“I’m still in Yhar’Ghul, right?” I asked. 

“Yes.” He confirmed, “Though there’s not much of Yhar’Ghul that’s still here.” 

The destruction of the city hadn’t been a dream. Everything had really happened. I had so many questions but they were private, for my mind to ponder and to never be spoken aloud. Did anyone know that I had done this? Was Minimus still alive? Was he trapped somewhere or had he made his way free of the rubble? Did he even know that I’d caused this? 

“That’s okay.” I said. 

“I really don’t think you understand.” He returned. 

“No…I do. I saw it…as I was…well..as things collapsed.” I explained. “Were there any other survivors?” 

I had to wait for him to push aside a section of brick before he spoke. There was the scraping sound of rock against rock as he pushed against the obstacle with all his strength. I could imagine him straining against it, all by himself. I hadn’t heard another person since the food had come down. What I had thought was a team of rescuers had turned out to just be the one. The others were a trick of sound and hope. 

“A lot of people managed to evacuate, even as things were coming down.” He told me. “Some Choir novice saved a lot of them. Maybe some of them will be people you know.” 

“I doubt it.” I replied, “I’m not from around here.” 

“Bad weekend for a visit.” He replied with a weak chuckle. 

I smiled. The next second the hole was blocked up. I had a moment of panic and the person above unleashed a series of curses that would’ve sent Sister Veera running for the soap. 

“Foot slipped.” Was the muttered explanation. He could stand on top of me now. There was a good deal more shuffling, and everything got a great deal louder, but finally there was a hole big enough for me to crawl through. 

He offered me his hand, and when I came through the opening I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something oddly familiar about him. He had gray hair, that didn’t seem to suit the youth on his face and wore a dusty apron over filthy brown pants and a sweat-stained shirt. 

“Thank you so much.” I said. 

“You’re welcome.” He replied. 

We were sort of stuck in that conversation for a while. So many emotions had clouded my mind when I was down beneath the city, but now gratitude seemed to be the only one available. It was slowly followed by confusion which always led right down the path of stupid questions. 

“Shouldn’t there be more of you?” I asked. 

There weren’t any other people; hunters; denizens; or otherwise about. Echoing far down the street I could hear the sound of something eating, distinctive in its smacking jowls, tearing claws and ripping flesh. He’d been right about the beasts not being bothered. There were bodies everywhere, many of which weren’t corrupted in the slightest. The creatures could eat their fill without having to chase prey. 

“Technically, no one is allowed back in the city, not until the hunters clear it out.” He explained, “But I couldn’t wait that long. There are people, people like you who need me. There’s got to be more of them, just like you.” 

“Ah.” I said, “Well, I’m sure grateful you did come along...Mr…” 

“Callum.” He said. “It’s Callum. Last name redacted.” 

I laughed. “Alright, fine. Callum. I’m Yilmarie, very grateful to have your help.” 

“You’re Yilmarie?” He asked. 

I nodded. 

“You can’t be.” He said. 

“Well I am?” I replied, half in answer half in question. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“They’re blaming this whole…mess on a kid called Yilmarie. The novice who saved everyone, Minimus told all the survivors he’d seen it happen.” 

“Bastard.” I muttered. 

“What?” Callum asked. 

“Nothing.” I said, “Look I don’t know what you heard but you saw me. I was trapped in a hole.” 

“I know.” He said, “There’s no way you could’ve done this. I believe you Yilmarie...and I think I’ve heard your name before. Weren’t you the kid on the stairs, back in Odeon Chapel? You were waiting for your injured friend.” 

I snapped my fingers. “That’s where I know you from. You were the medic.” 

He nodded. “Listen I know there’s no way that you could’ve done something like this. The idea that any one person could’ve wiped out half a city…it’s just ridiculous, but scared people are going to believe stupid things.” 

I nodded. The truth was the truth, but that didn’t make it very helpful. “

Can you…” He started. He stopped and licked his lips, pressing the tips of his fingers together as he considered the best way to phrase his question. “Can you be someone else? Is there any way you could disguise yourself…even just for a little while? Long enough that I can get you out of the city.” 

“I..I…I don’t know.” I admitted. 

Callum ran his fingers through his hair before dipping them into his apron pocket. He pulled out a wooden pipe and a few crumbled shreds of tobacco. He started to smoke, the white and blue curls rising up towards the sky. He chewed the stem of his pipe before he spoke again. 

“My last name is Prestwick.” He confessed. 

“Prestwick….like…the…”I started. 

“Like the Prestwick Company, yes.” He said. “I’m the thirteenth son of thirteen children…the other twelve are horrible in their own ways and my family has done unforgivable things. I disowned them, couldn’t be a part of it. I became some else, learned to do something else. As far as they know I’ve disappeared. You’ve got to do the same Yilmarie. You’ve got to learn to be somebody else.” 

I was wearing his jacket. I was carrying his knife. 

“I..I can do it.” I said. 

Callum gave me a stiff nod. He took the pipe from his lips and tapped his fingers against its polished wood surface several times. With a sigh he extended it to me, and when I refused he seemed relieved. The stem returned to his lips, and more smoke leaked out the side of his mouth, came out of his nostrils. 

“I’ve got find that bastard…” I muttered. 

“Minimus?” Callum asked. 

I nodded. 

“I would advise against it.” He said, “But this doesn’t seem like the kind of thing I’m going to be able to talk you out of.” 

All other words of caution he might’ve offered fell on deaf ears. I gave him a half-hearted parting wave before stalking off in whatever direction I figured led out of the city. Along the way I took the Choir cap from one of the dead that littered the ground. Izaius and I had been about the same height. I remembered how he talked, and if I laced my words with infinite politeness there was a chance that I could pass for him. It felt like an insult to his memory, but I’m sure he would’ve wanted me to live. 

Yhar’Ghul was as cold and confusing as it had always been. I’d never learned the layout of the city, and now with so many buildings half-gone and everything melted or twisted or disfigured I had no desire to learn. The beasts that were on the street didn’t prowl and patrol. Each of them was bent over a corpse, gorging themselves on the blood of the dead. The peace wouldn’t last. Once the corpses were too far gone they would be on the lookout for fresh meat again. 

I had to hope that some hunters would have been able to fortify things to a decent degree by then. If not, the surviving population would dwindle even further. How could I pretend to care about something like that, when I’d been the cause for its reduction in the first place? When push came to shove their lives were inconsequential and so long as I got my chance at Minimus I could live with them having shattered lives. They would find ways to start again. Survivors always did. 

These survivors weren’t being particularly smart about their concealment. They had all packed themselves into a church, and slipshod barricades were erected in place of doors. They didn’t seem to have had much time to put them together, nor materials to work with. The pews piled against the door were easily shifted, but there were alters and cabinets too. Everything had been splintered and haphazardly nailed together. There were gaps big enough for carrion crows to fly through; plenty large enough for someone like me to navigate. 

I was sure they were in this church because you could hear them talking out on the street. Someone was telling stories. Telling stories and using the voices. Dear Kos above somehow Callie had managed to make it out alive. I knew that voice. I knew those stories. I fought against the barricade all the more, pushing aside a shattered chair and a broken book stand. 

Now I could see them. There were a hundred or so in total, most of them gathered around a fire that burned in the center of the room. There were a few white candles that cast long shadows on the high ceilings. They looked like fingers closing in around the shivering mass of struggling humans. I took another step forward. My foot slipped on a glass bottle that had someone made its way to the top of the pile. I lost my balance and began to slide down the mountain of rubble. My legs were battered and bruised as I came down the barricade, getting several splinters and tearing a bit of my robe. I pressed one hand to the Choir cap. The last thing I wanted was for it to fall off. 

Every head in the building turn towards me. Callie stopped telling her story. This was my debut moment, my first time on stage. If I wasn’t exactly as I was supposed to be, someone was going to know. The entrance did not seem to have things headed in my favor. I adjusted my coat, slapped on a smile and strode forward to meet the survivors’ inquisitive gazes. It was how I imagined Izaius would’ve attended things. 

“Odeon Almighty, is it really you?” Callie asked. She shoved several people aside as she came barreling towards me. Before I even got the chance to answer she’d thrown her arms around me in a spine-crushing hug. “Where were you, where were you? I thought you were dead or turned into one of those horrible slug things…” 

“Calm down Good Sister Calliban.” I said, doing all in my power to sound like Izaius, “Everything is fine.” 

She was crying. She believed me. Kos would never forgive me for the lies I had to tell. I thought she might never let me go, but others started to crowd around me. I didn’t know anyone’s name. Izaius knew everyone’s names. This was never going to work. Most of them were denizens, in fact I didn’t see another Choir hunter anywhere. He’d bought flowers from that girl, but had he called her by name? Was she here? 

The scope of things that could go wrong was only beginning to sink in, when the worst possible thing that could’ve happened strolled into view. Minimus had been lurking up where the priests’ altar used to be. He came down the stairs with a confident stride, and the crowd parted for him. The only person who wouldn’t stand aside was Callie, who kept clinging to my neck. I knew why. It was the same reason I was going to hang on to Kohso once I was able to go find him. Izaius was her only friend left in the world. Garrick and Crane must’ve been victims. 

Garrick who was always so confident, and bent my ear with endless war stories. He didn’t seem the type to die in an event like this. He was the sort of person who was supposed to live to tell the tale. Crane had escalated things, and now he was probably part of the skeleton-monster. If he wasn’t he was dead, altered into glassy-eyed stupefaction by whatever process Doctor Lee had started and I hadn’t been able to stop. 

“Look!” Calliban said, not letting go but turning to face Minimus. The smile across her face was breaking my heart. “Look whose back! He made it!” 

“Back from the dead, I see?” Minimus asked raising his eyebrows. 

He had to know it was me. “Good Brother Minimus, how nice to see you.” I said. Keeping the malice out of my voice nearly killed me. 

“Likewise. I thought you’d perished. I was sure of it.” He said. 

He stepped forward and waited for Callie to step aside. She was reluctant to do so, but sensing the authority the little rat had somehow gained she relented. He pulled me into a hug so much tighter then hers that I was certain it would strangle me. 

“We need to talk.” He whispered in my ear. 

The time for talking had long since passed but if he wanted to speak to me in private and give me a perfect opportunity to run him through then I was all in favor. I whispered back in the affirmative and he let me go. Everyone else made their rounds. I smiled, hugged, shook hands and did all I could to seem like nothing was wrong. 

The smile started to hurt. When everyone had settled down Callie began another story. I wanted to hang around and hear how Hari Harel had needed to paint himself to look like a gargoyle in order to steal a cake from a greedy king, but there was no time. When Callie was making everyone’s mouths water with a description of the sugared confection, I feigned exhaustion and asked when I could sleep. 

Minimus offered to escort me, as I knew he would. 

We went far, far back into the church much further then felt comfortable. I kept my hand on the knife in my pocket, gripping the handle and waiting for the right moment. In all likelihood I would need to flee the second I’d done it. His absence would be noticed if we strayed too long, and grief-stricken perhaps even Calliban would come after me. 

Minimus pushed open a wooden door, and we stepped into a small room with several bunks. All of them were empty. 

“So impersonating your boyfriend now?” Minimus asked. He had a smirk playing across his lips. I couldn’t wait to coat them in crimson blood. 

“No more of this.” I said. 

The time where I was interested in being smarter than him, thinking up clever insults and exchanging quips was long gone. It was amazing how short-lived my sense of humor had gotten now that I had no one I cared to laugh with. The blade was out in a flash, but Minimus had knocked it out of my hands just as quickly. 

“You still think I’m stupid?” He asked. 

Rather than answer I looked at the knife on the floor. I went to dive for it, but before I could even drop to my knees he swiped the knife under the nearest bunk with his foot. 

“You do. You still think I’m stupid.” Minimus said. 

I shrugged. Some things don’t change. I was trying to seem collected but in reality my head was throbbing with anger. I’d thrown away the best chance I was ever going to have at revenge. 

“I know who you are Yilmarie.” Minimus sighed, “That cap isn’t going to fool me, and it’s only a matter of time before it stops fooling everyone else.” 

I took it off and gave him by best glare. 

He smiled, once more pleased that he was right. He was glad to have the upper hand. 

“So what do you want to talk about?” I asked him. 

“I admit…blaming the destruction of the city and the death of hundreds of innocent lives on you…may have been a bit harsh.” Minimus said. 

So he didn’t know it was accurate. That was good, probably. “A bit.” I quantified. 

“Alright, fine very harsh but it had to be done. I had to unify these people, I had to bring them together in their time of strife. What better way to do that then uniting against a common enemy?” 

I gave him another shrug. I hadn’t come to discuss politics. “What did you want to talk about?” I reminded him. 

“Really you ought to show me some more respect.” Minimus said, “Because I promise I could have you killed in a matter of seconds. There are people out there who want your head. All I want is your trust.” 

“Why would I ever trust you?” I snarled. 

“Because you don’t have a choice.” Minimus grinned, “If you’re going to play out this farce as Izaius, fine. Be the Choir’s throat slitter for a little while….but one day that Choir is going to get rebuilt. One of these days Lanthem is going to die, and Odeon Chapel is going to need a new leader. For far too long the seat of power in the hunting community has rested in Yhar’Ghul. Hunters meetings are few and far between, there is not the sense of power that there used to be. We need to restore it, and what better way than uniting my forces with a beloved son of the Choir? You’re going to work for me Yilmarie, and you’ll do everything I ask…or I’ll just tell people who you are and let them take care of it.” 

He extended his hand. 

I was unarmed. I would’ve traded my soul, my vision, my voice just to have been given a knife up my sleeve, but I didn’t have one. The deals with gods I wanted to make would not come to fruition. The only deal-offering devil was the one right in front of me. I had no choice but to accept. I would slit throats for Minimus, until it came time to slit his. 

I watched and waited for my chance, for years. Yhar’Ghul did not rise to the shining city it once was. The Choir stayed in shambles and the town was abandoned altogether. Minimus didn’t ask much of me at first and I was glad to oblige. My knives were mysteriously missing at meal times and there was never a stray weapon left for me to take up. 

Our return to Odeon Chapel was a festive affair, but I withdrew to the aviary. I’d lost my taste for parties, provided I ever had one. I got the chance to get my knives back but Minimus was never without an escort. 

I should’ve thrown them at him anyway. 

All of the church elders talked about Yilmarie and what an ungrateful wretch he’d been. Old priests who’d needed their bedpans changed talked about what a suspicious looking character I was. They didn’t know the same person was watching them behind a mask. Sister Veera lamented my disorganization deciding that the church basements were much better without the foul smelling scholar. 

They stopped using my incense recipe. The most effective way to ward off beasts at their disposal and they cast it aside. I was done with the lot of them. I made up my mind that threats or otherwise I was leaving Minimus behind. Surely he would find a way to rise to power without me. I was going to go find Kohso or the Vileblood, whichever I came across first. I tried to pack anything that was useful without being obvious. Someone caught wind of my plans and tipped Minimus off. He had one last task for me down in the basement. 

When I got there it was dark. He’d cleaned out my room, Yilmarie’s old workshop and left just a single chair sitting in the center of the room. 

“Go on, sit down.” He told me. 

“Just leav-“ I started. 

He shoved me backwards until I fell into the chair. A system of straps was quickly adjusted to keep me in place. Minimus held something in front of my face, but I couldn’t see what it was in the darkness. 

“Remember this?” He asked. 

When he finished his sentence the white lighting from our battle at Moonside Lake sparked all around a metal rod. There was nothing but pain and empty space. 

Thoughts fractured. Memories died. 

My brain was empty. 

My uncle was dead. A Vileblood killed him. 

Minimus had saved us all. 

Someone called Callie. 

Someone called Callum. 

But what was I called? Who had called me. 

Empty space full of questions I couldn’t answer. 

Then Minimus did. 

“You’re the Throat-Slitter.” He said, “And you’ll do as I say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


	15. Epilouge: The Witnesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't picked up on it by now all the chapter titles are references to my favorite W. H. Auden poem, "The Two" or "The Witnesses" depending on the publication. I think it fits this story more perfectly then you can imagine and would urge you, dear reader to look at it.
> 
> Thank you so much for spending your time on my story, I humbly present to you it's Epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think!

This wasn’t the first time they’d carried coffins through the city, but it was the first time I’d stayed for the whole thing. The blonde one had taken the boy’s body and I had taken his sword. I’d had to wait until the vile men who hunted their own the same way they hunted my kind left the area; waiting for it to be safe before I laid claim to it. Even in death that silly church boy probably wanted them to have it, but they weren’t chained to him for weeks. They hadn’t earned it. 

He was carried through the city in a white coffin. They never painted the ones for my brethren. I meant it with no malice, I was happy for the distinction. White suited him. There was a simple wooden cross on top, but I thought it was lacking just slightly. There should have been two dots burnt into one side, like there were on his face. Something to make it his own. He was going to be buried without any bells or badges. How would the Ancient Ones know he was a hunter? 

Truly he had been a hunter - thousands of hunters clogged Yharnam to show up for his funeral. There were members of the choir and lone hunters from all over. There were woodlanders and city hunters and even the silk-garbed hunters from the east who I hadn’t seen since days long past. I was not eager to meet with any of them again. Better I not get close enough to touch. Better to stay on the rooftops. 

I couldn’t hear the prayers they said over him, but they managed to get the head of the church out to the cemetery for them. He wasn’t speaking loud enough for anyone to hear except him, and the pall bearers. It was a sickening thing to watch the man who had killed the boy carry him through the city. He’d cast aside his executioners garb for a black mourner’s cloak and seemed to be crying with as much reverence and fervor as anyone else. What a shame that it was a sham. I wanted to shout about it, point fingers and raise accusations but he wouldn’t have wanted it this way. 

More and more people began to pack themselves in amongst the tombstones. It was impossible that he knew this many people. The church boy had never left Yharnam, not once. How was it possible that he had friends in the far east? I watched as they all began to crowd around the waiting plot. 

No headstone yet. 

Was there not time? 

Was there not someone amongst them who knew something of masonry? 

People tried to push to the front, I could only assume they were people who knew him the best. There were two men, hiding held hands in a fistful of flowers. Magnolias more specifically. A good choice for him, white flowers on a white coffin. 

A slim Choir hunter in a red vest. I could see the tears coming out from behind his mask. His lips moved in a repetitive whisper. I saw it enough to be able to hear it, even from far away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

He couldn’t stop apologizing. 

He wasn’t the one that needed to beg the boy’s forgiveness. That responsibility rested on the shoulders of the blond man, who hadn’t brought a thing to leave with the dead church hunter. No one gave him bells or badges. Didn’t they know? He had to have those. He had to die with those. It was incredibly important. 

I scanned the crowds several times hoping to find Roshin Vithiril, or the big one, Delphine. If they’d known about this, they might have come. 

I scanned the crowds back to the wide-eyed children who were dragged along by parents or church elders who thought it was important they be here. A brush stroke of a person, hardly more than a twig with a fluff of orange hair and enormous glasses cried onto the shoulder of a blue-eyed girl. She seemed a little older and wasn’t crying, though she seemed to understand that this was a scenario in which that was normal. The glasses-wearers clothes were a mess, more charcoal then black but her friend was dressed exceptionally, even donning a black silk bonnet to hide her hair. 

It must’ve been too light for something like this. 

“Thank you all for coming.” The conductor of the ceremony said, “I know a lot of you didn’t know our dear, dear Brother Kohso personally, but he was a shining example of what a church hunter ought to be. He was a favored son of Odeon Chapel, with a bright future ahead of him. It was stolen for a multitude of reasons, some of which we hope to remedy today. Executioner Alfred has a speech prepared, if you would just…” 

There were a few moments of awkward shuffling as the pallbearers hurried to place the coffin in its designated spot before the ceremony could proceed. It was the blonde one who was called forward to speak. The same one who had killed him. 

Unbelievable. 

“Good afternoon.” Alfred began. 

Liar. Already lying. There was nothing good about this afternoon. Funerals were not good afternoons. 

“It is my honor and privilege to speak with you all today, although I wish it were under different circumstances.” He continued, “I was the last one who got to speak with dear, dear Brother Kohso. I had brought him to Odeon Chapel when he was just a baby…brought him to live as a hunter. When I found him, in the desolate wastelands of Mensis, he was begging for me to take him out of this world.” 

Liar again. 

“No tithe has ever come back from beyond the Black Salt Sea before.” The Executioner said, “Brother Kohso was the first. He arrived in such a state, that clearly it was a sign from our dear church founder Ludwig. There will be no more tithes, no more journeys to his holy land. Brother Kohso was the last, and it is time we ended all of the sacrifices. With the fall of Yhar’Ghul and the loss of so many good people, hunter and denizens alike, it seems only appropriate that we should honor his memory by ending a chapter of the church’s’ more dubious history. No more tithes.” 

This call was carried around the assembled. I began to understand why so many people had shown up. They were using his funeral as some kind of assembly, a public forum instead of a formal affair. 

Repulsive. 

There were more talks. A few people even had the gall to raise their hands and ask questions. The Executioner did his best to answer them, passing things around to other church men when he couldn’t come up with an answer quick enough to satisfy. When everyone had spoken their fill the endless procession of people began. 

The men split their bouquet in half, and went up to the coffin separately to place the magnolias on it. A woman in a silk kimono lit a candle. There were thousands of candles by the end of it, enough to build a new coffin entirely out of wax. 

The children were last and least. The orange-haired twig was afraid to approach, all but flinging her rose down at the coffin before bolting away. Death scared her. How could she hope to be a hunter if she couldn’t handle a closed coffin. 

Most of the people began to leave, and when it was only a few children waiting for their mothers or nuns to stop chatting with each other and collect them I made my move. 

Taking bells from the men who tried to kill me had always been a routine of mine. Not a single hunter had given him a bell. There were small swords, cakes, flowers and candles. There were more books of prayer and copies of the Anointed Texts than even his pious soul could ever want. 

But he needed a bell. 

It was the first time I’d ever given a bell to a man who tried to kill me. I laid it over top of all the other gifts, circling the cross on top of the coffin. It was where his head ought to have been, if they’d really put his body in there. I hadn’t seen Alfred carry it away, but it wasn’t left behind either. 

“That’s for you church-..” I whispered. No name calling today. I’d promised. “That’s for you Kohso. Ring it and they’ll carry you up. You’ve earned it. I’m sure you have.” 

Those words didn’t seem like enough. The children laughed. One of them told the other to thank her lucky stars they’d stopped tithing. She was supposed to have been next. The girl with blue eyes wasn’t afraid to use profanity in a cemetery and told him where he could shove it. I swallowed back a chuckle. 

This wasn’t the place. 

This wasn’t the time. 

I felt like an idiot, but he would’ve liked it, and since he hadn’t killed me and hadn’t condemned me, I could stand to look like an idiot for a few seconds. I knelt down and tried to remember one of his irritating little prayers. 

“Oh flora, of the moon of the dream. Oh little ones, oh fleeting will of the ancients. Let the hunter be safe, let him find comfort and may his dreams foretell a pleasant awakening.” I prayed. “May you find your worth in the waking world.” 

It was the end of the prayer but I hated to say it, wishing an awakening on a dead man. His eyes would never open again, but that was how the church wanted me to say it. Even in death he was doing what the church asked of him. A favored son indeed. 

“Never wake up.” I added, “Stay asleep forever, church boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the final time, dear reader, thank you so much!
> 
> If you liked this story and want to help me continue writing them please consider supporting me on Patreon  
> https://www.patreon.com/2ndtothewrite
> 
> Thanks!


End file.
